Into The Dark
by Inkfire
Summary: Draco's relationship with his aunt Bellatrix as he is slowly overwhelmed by darkness.
1. Blinding shadows

**This story has been on my computer for a long, long, long while! Between beta problems and author blocks, I thought I'd never post it! But at last here you are!**

**So this is my view of Draco and Bella's relationship, from their first meeting (at least the first he remembers ;D) to her death. NO INCEST! Normal aunt/nephew relationship. Well, normal for them...**

**It's entirely in Draco's pov so far, I don't think that will change.**

**I'd like to dedicate this fic to my Bellatrix-addicted friends: to xoxLewrahxox and Bellatrix Le Fey, who should have been my betas but never had the time :( , to Xx Starlight-Moon xX for her support and her help to find the precise script of some scenes in English, and to all my other friends whose Bellatrix stories are unbelievably amazing: xDoubleIndemnity, Victory87, The Silly Frog, Mrs Bella Riddle, SlytherinFlower... You can find links to all these girls' profiles, among others, on mine!**

**Review me please? This fic means a lot to me... My first long English fic!**

**Btw, I'm French and I should have had a beta but my beta girls were so busy I finally dropped the idea... So if you spot any mistakes, let me know!**

* * *

Draco felt humiliated; ending up spending a couple of hours under the shape of a big, fat, revolting slug wasn't really his way of seeing a good revenge. He also felt aggravated, furious, hurt, fearful and very, very determined.

Against all the odds, his mother had managed to find him, change him back and get him out of the train in time, and he was now walking by her side in long strides, his cheeks bright pink and his wounded pride stinging. How strange to be alone with her, not to have to act calm and dignified for his father's sake. How Lucius would have hated to have to rescue his slug-transfigured son, how ashamed he would have felt, how harshly he would have reproached Draco his carelessness and his defeat. But all the sharp words he would have said Draco spoke to himself within his mind, as if those principles had only really taken him in when he didn't have a model under his eyes anymore. And he walked quickly, hiding his boiling feelings as well as he could, feigning calm and dignity. He had to grow up now, he thought. He would stand to his father's level and make him proud. He would be powerful. Strong. Respected.

But he still felt helpless as a little child when Narcissa took his arm softly and the feeling of Apparation overwhelmed him.

Then they were in the drive, through the gates, and they were home. How big and empty the manor yards looked now, Lucius' white peacocks wandering aimlessly, dizzily on the hedges, feeling empty and lost from their owner's disappearance. Draco suddenly wanted to slap himself. These stupid birds certainly didn't have a clue that Lucius was gone. They were totally brainless. As long they still got fed by the elves, they wouldn't notice it if the house burnt down. Though one could think they would have grown wary of fire; when he was little, just starting magic, he loved to set their wings on fire, and his father would scold him, ground him to his room, buy a few more peacocks to replace the damaged and order the elf to cook them said damaged at dinner. Peacock meat tasted just like chicken. How convenient.

He was acting foolish; giving them a mind of their own and some kind of sadness! Even the gates were probably more perceptive. He had been more mature when trying to turn them into a bonfire. He pondered taking some of his anger out on them later in the evening, but decided against it. His mother would be hurt. It would be childish again. And moreover, he was in no mood for peacock meat.

They were in now, the lights blinding him after the dark blue night outside. Their family manor: so huge, so ostentatuous, amazing wealth appearing in every detail. In this giant golden nest of a house, among the calm, dignified portraits that hardly ever moved they were alone, he and his mother, two weak beings deprived of their family leader...or a calm, sad but strong woman with her grown and powerful son, if he decided to do something worthy of himself.

But were they so alone?

In the bright lights of the hall his white-blond hair and his mother's golden one shone with sunny shimmer, but when you went away from the entrance, on to the core of the house, it was darker – a nice rest for his pale eyes – and there was a dark shadow to be seen among countless others, a tall, skinny, dark shadow with messy dark hair, and a pale, pale face with coal-black eyes aimed straight at him.

And then he blinked, and the silhouette disappeared.


	2. Expectant eyes

**Here is the update! (happy little sound)**

**Review me please. I'm sixteen today. Let's celebrate all together with our friend the green review button! Woop! Woop! **

**Thanks to Elo and Hannah for your reviews. I love you girls. **

**Bella and Draco aren't mine. Sob. I wish. **

**Should have asked for them as a present...**

**(ponders)**

In a blur ran the silent dinner, the brief talk with his mother – how his friends were, how his OWLs had been – the sleepless night in his cosy room. A blur of blinding lights and restless shadows, of endless questions. An out-of-time moment.

In the morning he felt strangely alert. The sun shone through his window, lighting the room without hurting his eyes. No shadows this morning; his eyes felt rested, keen, greedy. And he knew exactly what he wanted to do.

Draco cleaned himself up and put on his clothes quickly before leaving his room. It was very early, he knew that....but he didn't seem to care. He couldn't wait right then.

As soon as he was in the corridor, he realized that he didn't know exactly where to find her. Never mind. He went right to the first guest room and knocked at the door.

"Come in," he heard.

He walked in the room. His eyes scanned it quickly; he didn't think he had ever been in that room before. He had never invited his friends home. He wouldn't have his puppets there, under his father's wry gaze. And Pansy....well, he could have asked her to come. He hadn't. No, he had never seen that room indeed. It was probably quite bright, but the curtains were drawn, so the room was full of shadows. There was no one here to be seen.

A door opened and closed swiftly, and he jumped. She was there, the one he had wanted to see. He suddenly wondered why. He should have kept to his room.

"Draco," she whispered. It was not a greeting, merely an acknowledgement. She looked at him intensely, her eyes sparkling like onyx under her heavy lids.

"You look much like your father. I have to say, I'm disappointed with that."

This caught him off guard. His eyes widened.

"What?" he blurted out without thinking. He regretted it instantly. What kind of an idiot, rude child would she think he was?

A half-smile raised the corner of her thin lips. "I hoped we wouldn't get a miniature Lucius," she clarified, "but I do have trouble finding a little of Narcissa on your features. I do find, though. Somehow. Something in the curve of your brows, in your forehead....your jaw, maybe." She paused. "I'll have to watch further."

He was puzzled. She was bound to notice it: his mouth hung open, and he didn't seem to find available cell brains likely to conclude "Let's stop acting foolish". After a few seconds of freaked speechlessness, he remembered how to use his tongue. "Well, you don't look like her," he murmured. Since when could a murmur sound so _hoarse_?

"Wrong," she disagreed with a brief, flashing grin. "Perceptiveness does it all, you know. But it's a learned behavior. Anyway, although on the one hand you have her, pretty little blonde doll, perfect wife and mother and all, and on the other hand you get me, black-haired and let's face it, a little bit wilder, we don't have to be exact opposites. I have to admit we are on some points. But we have kind of the same features. Once you go over the colours...."

It was true. They had something in common indeed....the narrow forehead, the pointed brows, the slender lines of the face, the jaw....Yet Bellatrix's features looked sharper, harder in her gaunt face. It still held some kind of baroque, wild, almost tribal beauty, a beauty made of aura and charisma. Draco looked around quickly.

"What are you looking for?" she asked. Her voice, too, was different from her mother's. Narcissa's was brief and clear, with some kind of an aristocratic melting of contempt and delicacy. Bellatrix's voice was low, almost whispered, yet its tone was quite high. It was brief, too. This was a voice that could murmur love words; but it could shriek as well, and probably turned sharp easily.

As she lightly cleared her throat, raising her eyebrows at him, he recognized his mother's wry, sophisticated manners. But there was something more to her: a hint of strangeness, a sharp edge under the calm she had shown since his arrival. Something weird and tameless, not really unleashed, but close enough. All the people he had met in his life were sane. In his aunt's quick babbling where every word seemed to hide another sense beneath its sharply precise meaning, in her shining eyes and gaunt face, he felt something that frightened him and pulled him close at the same time.

"Sorry," he said lightly, "I was daydreaming." He had to get a hold on himself again. He went on anyway, trying to clear his mind with more conventional subjects than hidden resemblance: "I was surprised not to see you yesterday evening, at dinner."

She frowned. "I thought you'd be better off alone, with your mother of course." She made it sound like it was wrong of him to ask. "Besides, I'm not a sitting-dinner kind of person," she added.

He felt silly, not to understand. Not a sitting-dinner kind of person? Then how did she eat? He didn't dare to ask her to elaborate. Her wry grin was making him uncomfortable.

"What were you looking for, a couple of minutes ago?" she asked casually.

There were mirrors everywhere in his house. _Do I look like her, somehow?_

It didn't matter. He knew that he would find a mirror as soon as he was alone again, and the thought disturbed him a little. "Merely looking at the room," he lied smoothly.

She smiled knowingly.


	3. Spiraling

**Third chapter... Woop woop...**

**Thanks to Elo and Hannah for their reviews... **

There was awkwardness in the air. Mostly on Draco's side, though. Still staring at him in silence, Bellatrix was lightly shifting from foot to foot. It was not displaying embarrassment; she merely had trouble staying still, as it seemed. Without taking her eyes off him, she stepped back slowly and slid in an armchair, crossing her legs and leaning towards him, her chin resting on the knuckles of her crossed fists.

"Well," she said lightly, "I assume you didn't come here merely to say hello to an aunt you still didn't know from Eve a couple of minutes ago."

He cleared his throat, determined not to get lost in words again.

"I wanted to get the chance to see you," he replied, "but I had something else on my mind, as well."

She waited, then urged: "Well?"

He pursed his lips. "I wanted to hear about the Ministry, and how my father got arrested, actually. By someone who had been there."

Bellatrix's eyes narrowed. "I can't tell you most of it," she pointed out, "you are not a Death Eater. You mustn't know anything of our plans, be it the previous or the ones to come."

Draco's jaw tightened. "Figures," he muttered, "I already know the basics of it, anyway. I know it was about something you had to get....from the Department of Mysteries, as it seems....and Potter got involved somehow, since he always has to poke his nose in everywhere. You failed....the others were arrested....and you managed to get away. With the Dark Lord, right?"

She straightened up, uncrossing her legs, then crossing her ankles. "Basics, if you please," she agreed warily, "Then, what more do you want to know?"

"How did it all go wrong?" he asked desperately. "My father sounded very confident – he always did – my mother had no worries either... As you all, as far as I've heard! Then how did it happen?"

She shifted nervously, then suddenly got up; he stepped back, taken off guard. She threw her hair back, tucking it behind her ears. "We had that thing to get, that Potter happened to hold," she said very quickly, "so we couldn't do much. Your father was the leader of the group by the Dark Lord's decision, and he didn't want to take any chances; he kept me from trying to snatch the Pr- the thing from Potter. We got him cornered, and we had one of his friends, but the bloody Order arrived and took us by surprise. Then Dumbledore himself burst in, and hell sort of broke loose for us. I ran away after killing Black. I knew that Potter would follow me. I would have gotten the Prophecy then, but that stupid half-blood had already broken it. Then the Dark Lord came to deal with Potter once and for all, he duelled Dumbledore, and we got away." She stopped suddenly, with a sharp intake of breath, and Draco felt that she was editing.

"Then?" he urged.

"Then he was angry, do you want the details?" she snapped. "Angry with everyone, especially your father and I. But I was the only one left to take his wrath out on."

She didn't elaborate; Draco had no need to know the mechanics of the Dark Lord's punishments, yet he felt a strange, morbid curiosity. He breathed in deeply, trying to clear his mind, to sort out the flowing information.

"When do you think he'll free them?" he asked.

Her mouth curled almost convulsively. Running her hand through her hair with enough strength to pull it out, she walked past him, taking a few long strides in the room before whirling back on her heel to face him.

"I don't know," she said, "probably in a while."

Anger blazed inside him. "Oh well, that's probably precise enough for you. Why would you care?" he snapped.

Her eyes widened dangerously. "What would you know about it, little man?" she hissed, "Go straight to the Dark Lord and ask him to go free his defeated followers at once, then! See how he likes people questioning him or ordering him around!"

He breathed deeply. "Well, maybe I will get the chance," he said, "I will be of age soon enough, and I'm tired of being treated as a child. I'm a man, like you so well said. I want to get involved. In the cause."

Bellatrix's expression shifted from fury to surprise and from surprise to delight, but she still looked a little unsure. "You know what it means, of course," she whispered, "once you've taken that decision there is no turning back. And you know how it is. You're still young..." She trailed off.

"So you're think that I'm not worth it. That I'm too young," Draco said bitterly.

"I haven't said that," she replied, "there have been 16-year-old Death Eaters before. I was merely implying that you need to be sure of your decision.

"I am sure." He paused. "How old was my father?"

She hesitated. "Nineteen or twenty, I think. Something around those lines."

"How old were _you_?"

"Eighteen."

"I am positive."

She grinned.


	4. Last call

**New chapter... **

**This one is a bit short... **

**It has actually been betaed! Because it was written before every other chapter in this fic... It was meant as a one-shot, then I stared at it and thought «What if I wrote a whole fic about Draco and Bella?»**

**So, thanks to xoxLewrahxox for betaing it (HUGS) and thanks to the wonderful Hannah for reviewing, for sending me scripts in English, for supporting me with my pitiful love life and for being the amazing creature she is! (HUGS) **

It was warm in his brightly lit room; but neither the shining chandelier under which he paced endlessly, nor the roaring flames in the hearth could keep him from shivering slightly. He wasn't unsure; his mind was long made, but he still felt a sharp stab of fear as he pictured the moments soon to come. It was nothing, he told himself. A brief moment of weakness. He had no right to fail – but he knew that, and though that knowledge had gradually become a part of him, deep within his body, in his heart, in his blood, in his bones, deep as it was, it wasn't the deepest thing still. That fear, it wasn't the reason why. He had to show himself worthy – he had an affront to avenge, a name to carry high and bright. That night would be the first of his new life.

Knock, knock, knock... The sharp, yet melodic rhythm resounded in his head like a bell. A dawn of realisation overwhelming him, he turned – no, in fact he spun around, his heart jumping erratically in his chest.

He opened his mouth, wondering idly if he was going to produce a something which sounded human at all....and he closed it. He shouldn't have bothered; she always knocked, but it was of no use, like an ironic show of politeness. She came in anyway, staring at you with her dark, deep, disdainful and expecting eyes...

His aunt cleared her throat, raising her thin eyebrows at him, and he realized that he'd been staring blankly and wordlessly at her for a couple of minutes now. It more looked like a couple of hours to him – dragging, traveling hours that made him revolve around every single tiny thing that stood between him and his unavoidable duty.

Besides, Bellatrix was no tiny thing. She was a deep and restless being whose actions he was totally unable to expect. She was fascinating...unreadable...and put with all of her heart and soul into the cause that he was going to join in a short while.

"Draco!"

Her voice was high with excitement and irritation at his slowness. But there was something else to it; a hint of worry, a sudden doubt. She stared at him for a long time, holding him a prisoner in her haunted eyes.

He couldn't back out. It was as if the oath of his life was already given. _This is what I want_, he thought furiously, taking new strength deep within in his aunt's pupils. Even pale and dishevelled like she always was now, her eyes shadowed with lack of sleep, she carried an aura that succeeded in holding his decision deeply within his soul.

"We ought to go," she whispered. There was an edge to her voice, though soft, it sounded like the blade of a knife; smooth and cool, sharp and deadly with the slightest turn, that would bite through the skin of the careless player.

But there was no turning back now.

"I'm coming." His voice sounded clear and, he noted with satisfaction, steady. He moved his feet forward, one by one, and walked out of the room of his childhood days. She followed noiselessly, shutting the door swiftly behind her.


	5. Like new

**Thanks to anyone who reviewed**

**Do it please**

**Love you all**

He felt far different in the morning: strange, his thoughts blurred, his arm aching badly. Like something had been taken from him, and something added. Like he was another person in some ways, more of a man. He had been given a path.

He stood still for a long time, facing his open window, rubbing his marked arm absent-mindedly and letting his thoughts wander. But then a thin silhouette, standing from a distance in the sunlight-bathed yards, caught his eye. He watched it in silence for some time, then walked out of the room.

She was standing by a small bunch of trees with a faraway look on her face when he got to her. He didn't dare ask what he wanted to ask right away, yet after a few more minutes of dragging silence, he couldn't bear it anymore.

"I wanted to ask you," he said bluntly, "will you teach me what I need to know? To become a true Death Eater?"

She smiled strangely.

"Good morning," she whispered, "how does it feel, to do something worth it at last? To act like a man?"

"Weird," he replied reluctantly, "I feel...dull. Like I can't really wrap my mind around it all. And by the way, you didn't give me an answer."

"I remember how it felt for me," she mused, "It was....wow. Sort of unbelievable.... And then the Dark Lord taught me what it truly meant...."

She trailed off.

"So you want me to teach you.... But are you sure of it..." Her smile made him uncomfortable, like she was enjoying an inside joke, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get it.

"Yes," he answered stiffly, "That's what I want."

"Not that you have a choice. There are not many Death Eater who would take it upon themselves to teach a young boy such as you around here."

"I'm not a young boy anymore," he pointed out, furious at how childish, almost whining, his voice sounded. "I thought the man thing came with the Dark Mark. I chose my path."

"You did," she replied coolly, "But don't think the Mark does it all... You still have everything to prove."

"And I will," he hissed, "Don't you ever answer questions? I'm getting older here."

"Figures," she chuckled, "Yes, I will teach you what you need to know, impatient little boy. Although I can't really teach anything when it comes to patience, I know for sure that you will need some along the way."

"When I asked my father a question, he answered right away, or not at all," Draco said defensively. He wondered then what the point of those words had been. To prove himself a little more childish again, be sure that she really couldn't have a good opinion of him? Or maybe he worried for nothing, and he had managed to remind her of his family pride?

Bellatrix was smiling as if she knew exactly what he was worrying about. "Your father wouldn't have taught you as well as I will," she told him, "No offense intended. He's very talented.... But too full of his family pride, I'd say. He would have pushed you forwards endlessly, yet he wouldn't have been able to be hard enough to actually make you progress." She paused, lost in thought. "I'm not afraid of hurting you a little, and, I swear, you will be as trained as humanly possible when you get back to Hogwarts," she added with a wicked grin.

He wanted to step back. "Maybe," he said grudgingly.

She burst into clear, high laughter. "Oh, Draco," she giggled, "You're not as weak as I feared, but you have so, so much to learn. I think I will enjoy myself, I haven't had a protégé for so long."

He wanted to run away. Yet something kept him enthralled.


	6. Morning stars

**Thanks to Hannah and Elodie for their reviews. (HUGS)**

He dreamt in bright colours and loud cracking noises. As if blinding shadows were Apparating and Disapparating by his side, and he couldn't catch them, however far he reached –

His eyes opened suddenly, and he gasped in shock. Tiny red, blue, green, golden stars were happily flying and colliding over his head.

"Awake at last?" a mocking voice called from the back of the room, "God, you took your time. I was starting to wonder if you had died in your sleep or something. It would have been too bad."

"Indeed," he groaned.

"Sure. I got up one hour early to kick you out of bed, so dying tonight would have been really unpleasant and out of place. I'd even say ungrateful."

"Aunt Bellatrix!" Draco hissed, his eyes focused on his clock, finding it hard to believe them. "It's five in the night!"

"You could call it morning," she said cheerfully, "and you could call me Bella. Make it shorter, you know? If you get a bit too close to death, and you have to call me, don't bother with the politeness."

He rolled his eyes. "Will I get close to death today?" he asked wryly.

"Who knows?" she fired back.

"Anyway, it's awfully early!" he argued.

"It was part of the deal, you know. You asked for it."

"There never was anything close to a deal," Draco mumbled. Bellatrix acted as if she hadn't heard that part.

"And I wasn't intending to wait for your good will. Now get your young and vigorous arse out of that bed before I actually decide to help."

He groaned piteously.

"I'll be up in ten minutes," he promised wearily.

"Good. I'm getting out," she exclaimed, "By the way, it's a good thing your room doesn't stink, you know. I would have gotten impatient much more easily. Some of my curses don't cause any permanent damage, but they hurt like hell for a while. It would have had you awake in no time. I'll teach you some of my tricks if you're a good little boy."

He heard her laugh echo in the corridor over the slamming of the door. He closed his eyes and let out a long moan.

When he left the room, his aunt was waiting for him, perched on the banister of the staircase. She leapt down upon his arrival.

"You took your time," she commented.

"Barely five minutes!" he protested.

She winked at him. "Rule number one: your mentor will never declare that you did well. Especially about the time it takes you getting ready. My Lord used to curse the sheet he wrote me to come and see him on, so that it would burn and shock me repeatedly until I Apparated to him. I won't do that only because I'm right here to personnally kick you out of bed and curse you to maximal speed." Her grin was a teensy weeney bit scary.

"Oh, and I almost forgot: rule number two, never disagree with your mentor." He ducked her curse right in time.

"You're fast," she commented indifferently, "Good thing."

"You chose to do it personally because it's more fun to watch your effects with your own eyes, as well, didn't you?" he said wryly.

She grinned even more wickedly. "I won't deny it," she purred, "Are you planning on standing here for long?"

He felt suddenly pulled towards her.

"No need to drag me!"he groaned.

"Hurry up then!" she fired back, whirling towards the staircase. She didn't pull him again, yet she walked so quickly that he had to keep rushing anyway if he wanted to follow her. He did reluctantly.

Maybe it hadn't been a good idea after all.

Or maybe it was worth it.


	7. Fiery fight

**Thanks to Elodie for her review; extra thanks to Hannah for her review AND her correcting of my little mistakes in the last chapter and this one! You rock! **

Bellatrix led him to the training room. He had never set foot in here before; it was a wide, bright room, lit with several sets of windows. His aunt walked to its middle, then spun on her heels to face him.

"So, Draco," she said in a velvet-like voice, "What do you know about duelling and fighting?"

He was resolved not to let her disturb him again with her odd ways and sudden mood swings, therefore his voice sounded steady and confident when he replied: "Well, I only know what I was taught. Several spells, and the mechanics of duelling, of course."

She looked at him right in the eye. "And what do you know about the Dark Arts?"

He hesitated. "Well, I know the basics of their history...and some spells. Serpensortia....and the Unforgivables, of course. Only by name, though."

She smiled. "Well, I suppose we shall start with that, then."

She attacked him so suddenly that he was thrown into a wall before he even had the time to blink, let alone to think of drawing his wand.

He stood there for a few seconds, wondering idly if his legs were going to hold his weight any longer, confused and dizzy, until a magical shock wave whipped him from head to toe; he let out a low howl.

"Don't stand here like a fool," she snapped at him, "If you get in a real duel – or I should say _when_ –, always react quickly, even if you lose your wand. Move, surprise your foe, don't abandon!"

He groaned, sliding to the ground. A second shock ran through him; he whimpered pitifully.

"Take out your wand," she growled, "This was the caress of a quill compared to what you'll have to face later! Fight back!"

He shoved a hand in his pocket for his wand, taking it out slowly.

"Stand."

He dragged himself up penibly. Bellatrix's eyes were frighteningly intense.

"Good," she said softly. "Stand straight! You look like a hunchback! Tall and proud. We'll try a proper duel now, won't we? This was more of what you'll have to face in a wilder fight. Now, take the posture! Quickly, please! My, haven't we got a long way to go?"

He straightened up and took the posture asked for, after a quick nod of his head. She took it herself; she looked like a lionness, he noted. He wondered what he looked like himself. Better not to know.

"At three," she whispered, "One, two, three!"

They bounced at the same time. He tried his hardest to be a match for her this time, but it was useless. She was so superior to him it was hardly believable that such a witch could exist and still have a master, and she danced around him in bright flashes of colourful light, taunting him and exhausting his defences. She could have thrown them down with such ease it made them seem almost ridiculous; but it wasn't victory that she seeked. She wanted to see what he was worth. And she did, for what felt like a million centuries to him until he lowered his guard one too many times, and she disarmed him, his wand flying across the room.

"Well," she said breathlessly, "I saw what I was looking for."

He glanced at her. Her cheeks were flushed red, her hair even messier than usual. Her eyes shone blindingly, like two hard jewels, two black vortexes of intoxicated power.

"You weren't much weaker than I expected," she said coolly, as if sensing his worries. "As I said, still a long way to go. You are a little spoilt thing indeed, my dear, yet there is some power within you. Hidden quite deep, I'd say."

She smiled; and though he had rarely felt so weary and stressed out of his mind in his whole life, his smile mirrored hers.


	8. Nothing but glory

**Very short chapter, apologies...**

**Thanks to Elo and Hannah for their reviews. **

Draco was packing again. As every summer before, most of his things were spread in every corner of his room, whereas his cauldron, several books and other school-related stuff had not moved from his large trunk. There were more books though, and more...._adult_ ones. Some books that you don't let in the hands of children. Some that his aunt had shown him, others that he had found himself, in the back corner of the library, the one hidden behind the wall, in a secret aisle. Yet he would never have dared to sneak in Lucius' parlour, even if his life depended on it. Even if it hadn't been locked anyway...

He picked the books up, and threw those that counted lists of useful spells in his trunk, but put the Occlumency ones aside. He didn't need them any more. He knew both theory and practice. The thought made him smile, a little vainly. He could be proud of himself, after all. He mastered Occlumency. He mastered the Unforgivables. He kept getting better and better at duelling, though he was still far away from his aunt's level. He was ready. His mission would be fulfilled, however hard it would seem to someone else.

His mother's worries were irrelevant. She just couldn't seem to wrap her mind around the simple fact that he was sixteen by now. A grown man, for crying out loud! But he would prove it to her. To them all.

He grimaced when he thought once again of what he had done for him. Lowering herself in front of Snape! Snape, of all people! Snape, with his greasy, disgusting hair and his cold eyes, Snape whose voice was ever so cold, cynical and scornful! Draco couldn't understand how it had ever been possible for him to have a liking for the man. But it was over now. Oh yes. He had grown up, and seen through his teacher's pretences. Oh, he could be arrogant and confident, he could steal Lucius' rightful place with empty words and witted cowardness. But it wouldn't last. Draco himself would soon put it all to order.

It was a great security, to be utterly safe in his mind now, protected from Snape's – or from anyone's – little tricks. It had been a very good idea to teach him Occlumency. But though Bellatrix was weird and moody and pretty unpredictable, half of her ideas were brilliant, most of the time. The other half being insane...

Yet Draco blamed her for having come with his mother to Snape's, instead of keeping her from doing such a stupid thing. It was not a matter of judgment, though. Bella's voice was laced with lethal venom whenever she happened to speak about Snape. But she could talk, she wouldn't be the one to act this time. It would be his deed, his glory. The thought made him grin.


	9. In limbo

**Thanks to Elo, Hannah and Caitlin for their reviews (hugs)**

**Thanks to Hannah for pointing out my typos. I love you hunni. **

**As you can see there is quite a great gap between this chapter and the last one, as I decided not to write Draco's 6th year, but only his view on it when THE day comes... I hope this won't disappoint anyone. Let me know if you think some things are really missing. **

There had been a time to be determined, yet fearful. There had been a time to be confident and proud. There was now a time to be completely terrified.

From the second he opened his eyes to the second he closed them, Draco could feel his stomach churn; his mouth was dry, he couldn't talk properly to anyone without snapping rude things, he yearned to run to the Requirement Room, yet feared terribly to do so, he avoided glancing at Dumbledore at all costs. Well, to summarize things, he turned the expression "as fresh as paint" into the most perfect understatement ever conceived in a human being's mind.

His interactions with people were reduced to during lessons, but he often screamed at walls in the Requirement Room, where he spent as much time as possible.

Pansy and he had not broken up, nor did they ever do anything together. He had lost or forgotten his rare friends, merely using Crabbe and Goyle as sentries. His mother wrote to him all the time; he answered little. His aunt wrote him twice too, on the back of Narcissa's sheet, for safety. She wanted to know how he was, and how he was doing. It was clear that she was much more interested in the latter question. He didn't answer her. To her mother he said: all is fine.

Months passed like that. Months of dizziness and insecurity, of feeling that he wasn't strong, quick, mature, _old_ enough. Months of torture and fear. But he got the solution after all. He could fight the terror raging in his insides, and his loved ones would be safe.

He lay cold in his bed, staring at the ceiling. _When?_ There was no way to know, but it would happen, and it would happen soon – a matter of days, surely. He couldn't tell whether he wanted it to come true as soon as possible, to get rid of the painful expectation that tore through his body and mind, or whether he yearned for more time to get ready, to wrap his mind around the fact that he was going to end a man's life. No matter how much he happened to despise the man, this was pretty difficult. But time wouldn't help, he thought bitterly. He had to fulfill his duty.

He jumped so high he thought he'd have a heart attack; the Galleon lying on his bedside table had suddenly come alight. He grabbed it, his heart beating so fast and so loud it resonated in his ears. Words were forming on the side of the coin. Rosmerta's writing was quite easy to decipher, however he had to read a few times for the words to engrave in his brain: _Albus gone for a drink_.

He closed his eyes briefly. It was time.

Draco pulled his sleeve up. The Dark Mark was there, shining bright red on his bared forearm. Swallowing convulsively, he pressed his forefinger against it, cringing against the burning sensation.

Blinking back traitor tears, he pushed his sleeve back and grabbed his wand. He threw his clothes on in no time, putting the tiny bag containing the most important of his possessions in his pocket before crawling out of the dormitory. He would have liked to say goodbye to his friends, maybe even apologize. For everything. But he had no time, and barely enough strength to pull himself forward. He had to be a man.

He hurried towards the Requirement Room, concealed beneath a Disillusionment Charm, frantic to get there before he crashed to the floor or forgot to look around and ran right into one of the members of the Order keeping watch in the corridors. What were they doing there to begin with? Did they _have_ to be there all the time, did they have to add such a risk to his task, maybe to ruin it all? Bloody bastards!

Though he had no time, he couldn't help but pause at the sight of the room. It wasn't a haven, and it wasn't a hell; it was in-between, a place of joy and fear, and eventually the place of his final triumph. He couldn't bring himself to smile at the thought. There were still so many things that could go wrong. The horror he could barely hold back anymore was a dutiful reminder of this. It would be the beginning of the end, if he waited be it one second more. Racing to the Vanishing Cabinet, he pulled the old handle halfway down. Its creak made him cringe like the outcry of his suffering soul, but he fought the surge of cowardness away. The way was opened, and it was known far away from there as well, back in Borgin's dark little shop.

He stepped back, his breathing erratic, and waited for a few seconds. And then the handle was brutally turned, until it faced the opposite direction as before anyone had touched it that fateful night, and_ they_ burst into the room.


	10. Welcome in hell

**Thanks to Hannah and Elo for their reviews. **

**A special thanks to Sarah who incredibly spoiled me by reviewing every chapter in a row!!!!!! Okay, I do that too but I'd never experienced it on the author side and it feels great!!!!!!!!!**

**(hugs all)**

**Now, something special for this chapter: not only was the murder scene the hardest part of the fic so far, but it was twice more work as well because I did two versions. The book version is ITD himself, but I made a film version because of Bellatrix who appears in the film, not in the book and I just couldn't miss that. So there will be three ITD chapters covering the murder scene, and at the same time I will post a three-chaptered film version named Death of Innocence. It starts now so please read it too, I really think it's as worth it as the main fic!**

There weren't more of them than Draco had expected, and they were his fellows after all: Death Eaters. The thought made his stomach churn. But it wasn't what had kept him frozen there to begin with, the last blow to turn the last fragments of his confidence into a handful of dust. It was something else entirely; it was the last man to have stepped out of the Cabinet, the tall silhouette whose Death Eater robes didn't seem to fit. The man – the beast – the werewolf. Fenrir Greyback, here among the warriors to enjoy the slaughter and Draco's fellow students.

He knew he had to control himself; he just couldn't seem to get a grip. "Well?" a man he knew was named Amycus Carrow barked, and his sister Alecto giggled by his side. Draco took a sharp intake of breath.

"The Order is out there," he said, fighting to keep his voice clear and steady. "Dumbledore will be back to the castle in little time. Now, you know the plan: I'll wait for him in the Astronomy Tower, with the Dark Mark overhead. Just create the diversion while I fulfill my task."

"Wait till you show the guts before you order us around, little boy," Thorfinn Rowle drawled. The Death Eaters laughed at Draco's slight jump, at his fear – was it so obvious, was he so transparent? –, at his name and at his blood, at his family, at his sixteen-year-old little self...

He saw dark eyes in their laughing faces, though hers were one of a kind and nothing so common; he heard another laugh covering their noisy glee, dark words on a piece of parchment – _I so wish I could be there, make us proud, little boy_ – danced around in his mind, and he heard himself shouting: "ENOUGH!". They seemed frozen in surprise, and he knew that he had to handle this, he had to make it quick.

_Make us proud. _

"I am in charge, no matter how young I am, no matter what you think of it," he breathed.

_This is your task. This is your time. _

"Dumbledore is mine, I settled this plan."

_Prove yourself, show them what you're worth! _

"Follow me."

He turned and walked to the door, and silently, they followed. But he could feel their eyes on his back, watching him, assessing him. Ready to strike, at the first error.

This plan was his, went through a million times in his mind. Smoothly he concealed himself, sliding out in the corridors like a deadly shadows, unleashing the beasts that followed. He refused to look behind as he hurried through the castle, knowing that there were there, he had a couple of seconds – maybe minutes, at the very most – before the fight began.

He heard it behind him of course, after a short, very short while. Bangs and screams, the path of destruction following blindly in his footsteps. He only walked faster.

For the first time and by his hand, the Dark Mark was hovering over the Astronomy Tower, and he meant to wait there, but the screams, the bangs were getting stronger and stronger... _Gone for a drink_... One drink? How much time? But he couldn't help himself, and he crept back, down the stairs, in a deserted corridor – _where were they, where were they_ – before he ran into it. The battle.

He could hardly have done anything sillier. He had put himself in great danger – _flashes of light, flashes dancing around him in a lethal ballet, yet they couldn't see him_ – he had to head back, quick, before he was hit or before the battle extended his way, and he couldn't seem to move – _petrified here, watching, fearing, guilt tearing at his sides_ – this was his doing, he had chosen the plan, known the consequences, how stupid to stand here mourning his long lost innocence and watching the carnage, watching the Mudbloods', the traitors', the worthless' lives be cut short – _where was Greyback, where was he, what was he doing_ – this was his doing, his duty, he had to go back to the Tower and wait for the final moment – _Dumbledore is your goal, this is your mission – time to kill – time to kill – time to kill – _

The burning, too close to his ribs, made him yelp in surprise. Aurors' eyes flashed his way... The signal was sent, he didn't even need to read the words engraved on the Galleon's side. _Heading back._ He turned hastily, narrowly avoiding a curse thrown his way, and he ran; stumbling over a dead body on the floor, racing towards the corridor he had come from, the stairs, the Tower, his duty, his terror, running forward to embrace his fate, while his fellows backed after him, still sending death this way and that.


	11. Time to kill

**Murder scene at last...**

**A huge thank-you to xX Starlight-Moon Xx, without whom this part would never have been written to begin with, since she had the niceness and patience to send me the whole dialogue from the 6th book (which I don't have in English, since I'm French). Check out her fics, they're awesome...**

**Thanks to Hannah, Sarah, Elo and my latest reviewer The Darkest Wizard (hugs all)**

**Check out this chapter's film version in Death of Innocence. **

**This chapter is a lot longer than usual since I had to cut my murder scene into two parts... Those are the chapters I'm the most insecure about, so tell me your thoughts please...**

"Expelliarmus!" he shouted, throwing the door open, praying frantically in his head.

Dumbledore's wand flew out of its owner's hand, and that was it. His task was standing in front of him – his helpless prey. This had been easy.

Then why did his guts keep on writhing in terror?

"Good evening, Draco," the old man spoke softly.

Draco took a small step forward, glancing around quickly. Perfect. Just as planned. The wand a safe distance away, the castle's protectors fighting down in the corridors, Dumbledore had no means of escape, he couldn't reach his broom – the brooms –

"Who else is here?" he asked shrilly. Why did he sound so frightened? He was the one with a wand in his hand, he ought to feel strong!  
"A question I might ask you. Or are you acting alone?"

Draco stared into Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes. A surge of aggressivity pressed his heart. He yearned to strike the old man, to hurt him, to wipe that calm, wise look off his face. Didn't he know,

didn't he realize? Hadn't he seen the Mark? _Or does he think you're too weak to do it, too? _

"No," he said in a hard voice, "I've got back-up. There are Death Eaters here in your school tonight."

But this didn't seem to shake the man either. "Well well," he said, "Very good indeed. You found a way to let them in, did you?"

"Yeah," he hissed, "Right under your nose, and you never realized!"

_Do it_, a voice in his head whispered. _Strike. Do it now. _

_I'll show him. I'll show them all. I'll tell him what I've done, and he'll cower in fear before me! _

"Ingenious," said Dumbledore. "Yet...forgive me...where are they now? You seem unsupported."

This was fear, he understood as he listened to his own shaky voice, as he spoke without thinking, seemingly unable to stop.

"They met some of your guard... They're having a fight down below."

_Why are you giving him information? _

"They won't be long."

_You don't need them._

"I came on ahead."

_Do you even know why?_

"I - I've got a job to do."  
"Well, then, you must get on and do it, my dear boy," the Headmaster replied.  
And then came the silence. He spoke no more, and neither did Dumbledore; but the hissy little voice in his head had gone quiet too. Nothing to push him forward anymore, he was alone. The only words that mattered now were _Avada Kedavra_.

"Draco, Draco, you are not a killer."

He was starting to believe it himself, imprisoned in his torturous duty, his hesitation; that's why he blurted out "How do you know?".

Dumbledore smiled; and though the eyes were blue, the face wrinkled, the gaze soft, he thought he saw his aunt's wry grin; there he understood that he was still nothing but a child.

"You don't know what I'm capable of!" he said desperately, his voice louder, with echoes like those of a child trying not to cry, "you don't know what I've done!"

_I have done everything – except the very task. _

"Oh yes I do," Dumbledore answered. "You almost killed Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley. You have been trying, with increasing desperation, to kill me all year. Forgive me, Draco, but they have been feeble attempts...so feeble, to be honest, that I wonder whether your heart has really been in it..."

"It has been in it!" he said vehemently. "I've been working on it all year and tonight –"

Tonight, the cry coming from the fight below sounded somehow like his own, helpless and hopeless. Tonight Dumbledore spoke as if he knew everything of him, more than he knew himself, and the two lethal words he had practised over and over didn't seem to come on his tongue. Tonight it was terror and maybe his first flicker of lucidity.

_Draco, Draco, you are not a killer..._

He was not a killer. He was a lost little boy, whose father was locked far away in an icy prison. And indeed, Dumbledore was speaking to him nicely, conversationally, like to a little boy he had no reason to fear. But he had stopped listening to the old man's gentle words, paying attention to the sounds of battle instead, and he was petrified.

"Perhaps you ought to get on with the job alone," suggested Dumbledore. "What if your back-up has been thwarted by my guard? As you have perhaps realized, there are members of the Order of the Phoenix here tonight too. And after all, you don't really need help . . . I have no wand at the moment...I cannot defend myself."

Now Dumbledore himself was telling him what he ought to do – Draco just stared. His heart was pounding madly in his chest, and he couldn't see sense anymore, couldn't think. He was speechless, strengthless – spineless.

"I see...You are afraid to act until they join you."

It was a helpless, naive, silly old man, yet he was right. Something was wrong. Something was wrong inside of him. And no matter how hard he tried, he could not fix it.

"I'm not afraid!" he snarled, "It's you who should be scared!" Yet they both knew that it wasn't true. What could he do now, that he hadn't done before?

"But why? I don't think you will kill me, Draco. Killing is not nearly as easy as the innocent believe... So tell me, while we wait for your friends... How did you smuggle them in here? It seems to have taken you a long time to work out how to do it."

Through the struggle to keep his body in control, he heard his own voice as if it belonged to a stranger. He heard his own rushed words, explaining how, unfolding the plan he had so carefully planned and that had so perfectly worked out – for nothing. He heard the pitiful weakness of his voice, the vulnerability there, the terror within, so close under the surface, the terror Dumbledore seemed to sense. The Headmaster was acknowledging him, the brilliance of his plan, and it soothed his frightened soul. How ironic. And he felt in control again, he remembered that he had once triumphed in something. How pitiful. He felt as if he had several selves now; the scared boy whose muffled cries he could hear at the back of his mind, the bloody stupid boastful _thing_ that was feeling happy hearing Dumbledore's praise, the grown young man who was screaming _What the hell? Do it now!_ and there were other voices too, his aunt's, whose lines were quite close of his most mature self's actually, his father's whispering that he couldn't really make out, and even the Dark Lord's cold laughter in the background. What couldn't he tune them out and get settled on a way? He was tired of being torn – he had never wanted the pain, never known what he was getting into –

"I was sure it was you."

Some more madness in this fucked up world.

"Why didn't you stop me, then?" he asked incredulously.

"I tried, Draco. Professor Snape has been keeping watch over you on my orders – "

Anger bubbled in him at the name.

"He hasn't been doing _your _orders, he promised my mother – " he started bitterly.

"Of course that is what he would tell you, Draco, but – "

"He's a double-agent, you stupid old man!" he spat, "He isn't working for you, you just think he is!"

"We must agree to differ on that, Draco. It so happens I trust Professor Snape – "

"Well, you're losing your grip then!" he sneered, "He's been offering me plenty of help - wanting all the glory for himself – wanting a bit of the action – _What are you doing? Did you do the necklace, that was stupid, it could have blown everything_ – But I haven't told him what I've been doing in the Room of Requirement, he's going to wake up tomorrow and it'll all be over and he won't be the Dark Lord's favourite any more, he'll be nothing compared to me, nothing!"

Draco stopped and breathed deeply, feeling more and more out of hand.

"Very gratifying," said Dumbledore mildly. "We all like appreciation for our own hard work, of course... But you must have had an accomplice, all the same... Someone in Hogsmeade, who was able to slip Katie the – the – aaaah..." Closing his eyes, the old man nodded slowly. "Of course... Rosmerta. How long has she been under the Imperius Curse?"

"Got there at last, have you?" Draco taunted, yet his arrogance was nothing but a façade. The terror was overpowering the glee, making it hard to breathe. He listened to Dumbledore musing his deductions aloud, nodding slowly along. He even answered the man's questions, he laughed at Dumbledore's sensitivity about the word "Mudblood". But he now felt numb. Numb.

"But as for being about to kill me, Draco, you have had several long minutes now. We are quite alone. I am more defenceless than you can have dreamed of finding me, and still you have not acted..."

His lips opened on the two fateful words, yet he had no breath to utter them. An almost physical pain contorted his features for one second. He was lost.

Dumbledore carried on as if he hadn't just commented Draco's unability to killed him – going on and on about how the plan had unfolded, deducting and musing – and Draco felt a kind of high, mixed with a weird, numbing realisation, when he told the old man that one of his people had died. So if he still could feel exhilarated over the plan's success, over an enemy's death, why wouldn't he be able to carry out the deed? The noise was getting stronger and stronger – his side was winning – why wouldn't he be able to complete the task and earn his glory?


	12. Out of the pack

**Murder scene over! Wow!!!!!!!! (relieved)**

**Thanks to Sarah, Caitlin, Hannah and Elo for their reviews – and thanks, thanks, thanks for the nice words. I'm relieved you didn't thought the last chapter dull, and actually starting to like it myself^^**

**That makes me less insecure about this one, too^^. Hum, okay, I just re-read it – the first was better :(**

**Anyway. I'll just stop there and post. **

**For the third and last time, this chapter's film version can be found in Death of Innocence. **

"There is little time, one way or another," said Dumbledore. "So let us discuss your options, Draco."

"My options!" he said loudly, fighting off the hysterical edge in his voice. "I'm standing here with a wand – I'm about to kill you –"  
"My dear boy, let us have no more pretence about that. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it when you first Disarmed me, you would not have stopped for this pleasant chat about ways and means."

"I haven't got any options!" Draco cried suddenly, drained of his last bits of control. "I've got to do it! He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family!"

"I appreciate the difficulty of your position," said Dumbledore. "Why else do you think I have not confronted you before now? Because I knew that you would been murdered if Lord Voldemort realized I suspected you."

Draco winced at the sound of the name.

"I did not dare speak to you of the mission with which I knew you had been entrusted, in case he used Legilimency against you," continued Dumbledore. "But now at last we can speak plainly to each other... No harm has been done, you have hurt nobody, though you are very lucky that your unintentional victims survived... I can help you, Draco."  
"No, you can't," Draco breathed, "Nobody can. He told me to do it or he'll kill me. I've got no choice."

"Come over to the right side, Draco, and we can hide you more completely than you can possibly imagine. What is more, I can send members of the Order to your mother tonight to hide her likewise. Your father is safe at the moment in Azkaban . . . when the time comes we can protect him too... Come over to the right side Draco... You are not a killer..."

Draco stared at the old man, and for the slightest moment, he believed what he was told. He believed that Dumbledore could take him by the hand and pull him out of this nightmare, that his family would be safe. Then he thought of the Dark Lord's bloody, merciless gaze, he fought of his aunt, who had mentored him to make him able to achieve this task, to make him strong – who had trusted him – and he knew that no matter what he did, he wouldn't be able to escape.

"But I got this far, didn't I?" he said slowly. "They thought I'd die in the attempt, but I'm here, and you're in my power... I'm the one with the wand... You're at my mercy..."

"No, Draco," Dumbledore said quietly. "It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now."

He didn't believe in being protected, he didn't know where the power truly lay between them, and he wasn't sure of anything anymore; that's why he very slightly lowered his wand.

And then heavy footsteps resonated in the stairs, and the mass of his fellows burst in, pushing him aside violently.

"Dumbledore cornered!" Amycus Carrow roared. "Dumbledore wandless, Dumbledore alone! Well done, Draco, well done!"

Yet Dumbledore still remained calm and civil, just like he had been all along, speaking to the Carrows, and even to Greyback, with cool politeness. Draco didn't know where the old man found so much control, he felt ready to collapse himself.  
"Shocks you, that, does it Dumbledore? Frightens you?" the beast taunted, speaking about his taste for human blood.  
"Well, I cannot pretend it does not disgust me a little," said Dumbledore. "And yes, I am a little shocked that Draco here invited you, of all people, into the school where his friends live..."

This seemed to shock him awake – Pansy – "I didn't," he breathed, avoiding everyone's eyes. "I didn't know he was going to come –"  
"I wouldn't want to miss a trip to Hogswarts, Dumbledore," Greyback rasped, cutting the boy off. "Not when there are throats to be ripped out... Delicious, delicious... I could do you for afters, Dumbledore..."  
"No," Thorfinn Rowle said sharply, "We've got orders. Draco's got to do it. Now, Draco, and quickly."

Draco gulped. That was it – he was done for. Yet he had a reprieve; Amycus Carrow's mocking the old man, then flying off the handle without any warning, and there he was again, no more waiting this time. How disgusting it was, their behaviour, a bunch of hungry, smug wolves, playing with the food before eating it, displaying their rudeness and stupidity and being proud of it all. Not warriors, not sadists, _animals_, and he thought of his aunt briefly, wondering how she would have behaved. But maybe some subtility in the triumph and the pain would have been so much worse – the Dark Lord was _the _example of frightening subtility. Yet their yelling had him petrified, voices were heard from below, the fight still on, the Order close by, and Snape stormed into the tower, his wand half-raised.

He closed his eyes. Amycus's voice, Dumbledore's, he tuned them out. He only heard the two lethal words, and he thought _Why not me?_


	13. Fateful return

**Before I changed, this author note was saying: "Thanks to...for their reviews"**

**WTF?**

**Okay. I'm completely DUMB. **

**The thanks were meant for Hannah, Elo and The Darkest Wizard. Sorry, dears. **

**Since I'm so hopeless and brainless, I deserve a little review to boost me a little, do I not? Come ooooooon^^**

Snape grabbed hold of him, and before he had fully registered what was happening to him, they were out, and they were running. Down the stairs, through the corridors, through the battle, blindly, forward, forward, runrunrun – Draco felt torn apart; a burning in his eyes, in his head, deep in his insides, a fire raging within him, eating him, destroying him. He couldn't think any more; he wanted to throw up, wanted to die. He ran though, pulled forward by Snape's grasp, but he couldn't outrun his nausea and self-hatred. He couldn't breathe; then why didn't it end? Flashes of light were dancing around him, dazzling his eyes, yet they couldn't break through his nightmarish darkness. He broke out into the fresh, perfumed air of the night.

Gasping, he ran on and on, although Snape pulled him no more. The urge had finally come that screamed at him to flee. Maybe, if he ran fast enough, he could get out of the world and let his fire behind to burn it all to the ground. He didn't know, he didn't know any more. Tears were blinding him, but they didn't feel like his. They felt foreign.

He could still see a huge mass running towards them, and for one fleeting second he thought _Greyback_, and then he realized that it was stupid: the werewolf was behind them, and he wasn't that big – another halfbreed, though –

The half-giant was trying to get into their way, yet Draco had hardly seen anything more stupid in his life; he had no wand, he would get slaughtered... However, he managed to duck some curses, and the others, mostly sent by Rowle, didn't seem to affect him that much... Draco didn't pause to register this, to try to understand. Anyway the halfbreed was busy with the others, and he went on and on, Snape running by his side...

"_Impedimenta!_" a voice yelled after them, piercing through the darkness. A Death Eater wouldn't have sent such a harmless curse, they mostly used nonverbal magic anyway...

"_Stupefy!_"

He knew that voice, he knew it....

"_Run, Draco!_" Snape yelled, and he whirled round to face Harry Potter.

Draco didn't turn, he ran, he ran, and he heard the blasting of curses, the yelling behind him, the giant's hut bursting into flames, he never stopped, on and on, until he could Apparate away.

He collapsed against the gates of the Manor, panting and – he understood with a start – crying. It was surprising that he hadn't splinched himself. He stayed there for a while, resting his head against the cold metal. The Dark Lord would be waiting there, he realized. The Manor was almost his headquarters now. By all odds he would soon start living there himself. Although he didn't think it likely that he would end up having breakfast with the Dark Lord sitting in front of him, the thought

still made him shudder.

A hand closed upon his shoulder, shaking him roughly. "Are you planning to lie there for long?"

Snape. He didn't feel hatred or fury anymore, not even the slightest emotion towards his former teacher. All that he felt was a surge of bile climbing up his throat.

The gates slid open as Snape raised his left arm, and he walked through them, pulling Draco after him. Several windows of the Manor were lit. People were waiting for them. The grass was wet with recent rain. Outside it was gloomy, the fountain singing its lonely song and reflecting the clear moon overhead. A liquid world of cold colours, where everything was sliding out of reach with teasing, wet sounds. Inside shone bright little suns in each chandelier. Draco hopelessly craved for warmth and safety.

The double doors suddenly opened; they were bathed in golden light, and Narcissa Malfoy ran over to them, grabbing her son and hugging him hard. Draco was blinded with strands of his mother's hair and the sudden glow from the hallway, but he couldn't miss the dark shadow that hurried down the broad stone steps towards them now, messy hair rippling after her, skinny silhouette melting into the night.

"So?" Bellatrix's voice was slightly higher than usual, edgy with half-concealed worry.

"Dumbledore is dead," Snape replied coolly; Bellatrix exclaimed in joy, while Narcissa pressed her son closer against her chest.

"I killed him."

Deadly silence.

"You did," she murmured, "_You_ did. Draco?"

Draco hid his face in his mother's hair. Bellatrix took a sharp intake of breath.

"I see." Her voice sounded hard, bitter. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her turn away and head back into the Manor.

Narcissa parted from her son. "She's going to tell the Dark Lord," she said, her voice tense. "Let's go. Let's go."

Draco let her pull him forward without resisting. "Thank you, thank you Severus," he heard her say as they walked the door and went on through the huge hallway, to the drawing room at the end of the corridor. It was dimly lit, so that it was hard to make out Voldemort's features; as for the Death Eaters, they were a bunch of confusing shadows in the darkness. Bellatrix stood a little apart from them, nearly as pale as her master, her dark eyes focused on the three of them, unblinking.

"Well, well, Draco," Voldemort said softly, his red eyes glowing, "how about you tell me how your mission went?"

Draco stared at his feet; he couldn't bring himself to meet his master's bloody gaze. Fear was gnawing at his insides.

"The Dark Lord is waiting, Draco," Voldemort hissed, "What is it that your aunt told me? How did Dumbledore meet his end?"

Draco wanted to talk, to answer, he really did; but he just couldn't find his voice, his words anymore. "I asked you a question, didn't I?" _Please, please someone help me_... "_Crucio_!"


	14. On fire

**Thanks to Elo, Hannah, Caitlin and The Darkest Wizard for their reviews. **

The pain was excruciating, tearing his body apart, consuming his soul. He had only ever been under his aunt's Cruciatus – according to her, one had to feel it to really be able to understand it – but although he wouldn't have thought it possible, the Dark Lord's was a hundred times worse. The agony raged through him for what felt like centuries, before it suddenly stopped. His whole body ached terribly. He heard distant cries; his mother, begging for his sake.

He looked up – he hadn't even realized that he had fallen to the floor. Death Eaters were cackling all around him, leaning in to glare at him, to feed upon his pain. The Dark Lord stood like a snake-like king among the crowd, Bellatrix was watching from a distance – he couldn't tell whether she actually was worried, awed or deathly furious – and his mother, closest to him, was struggling against Snape's grasp that held her back firmly.

"Severus." Voldemort's voice was cool again, as if he hadn't noticed Narcissa's pleads and desperate cries. Snape shook Draco's mother very slightly and let go of her. She sank to her knees and crawled towards her son, wrapping her arms around him.

"The plan was going well, my Lord," Snape said calmly and quietly, "but Draco couldn't do it. He was unable to finish the old man off, so I did it before the Order had any chance to get to us."

"Fine." Voldemort sounded very collected, not angry at all. He walked slowly over to Draco's shaking form. "Narcissa, get away."

His mother hesitated. Snape didn't seem prone to help them in any way now, and Bellatrix stepped towards them, grabbed her sister's arm and hauled her away.

"Draco," Voldemort murmured, " Didn't you understand when I ordered you to kill Dumbledore? Weren't you willing to obey me when you took the Mark? Did you think you could get away with this?"

He knew that he had to answer if he didn't want to bring another Cruciatus on himself; he was sure that he wouldn't be able to handle it, he couldn't take anything anymore.

"Please, my Lord," he croaked, "Please."

The Dark Lord burst into a cold, joyless, merciless laughter.

"Bella, let your sister be and come here," he drawled, "didn't you teach your nephew what he had to know? Didn't you show him how to fight his inner, disgusting weakness and be worthy enough?"

Draco managed to glance up. His aunt was watching him, seemingly frozen.

"Bella."

"Indeed, my Lord," she said.

"Well, it looks like you failed to notice how weak he truly was. Once again."

She didn't reply.

"Why don't you show your nephew how disappointed in him we all are?"

Bellatrix raised her wand.

"_Crucio_!"

And there it was, the awful pain again. Draco was drowning in his own cries; but then a shriek pierced through his agony, and it was over.

He glanced up again; Narcissa, maddened with terror, fury and grief, had thrown herself at her sister, seizing her by the shoulders and sending the both of them to the ground.

The Dark Lord casually sent a Cruciatus to the women struggling on the floor. It hit Narcissa in the back; she shrieked again and jumped up. Bellatrix pushed her away and stood as well, breathless.

"Enough," Voldemort said quietly. With a flick of his wand, a deep gash appeared on Narcissa's cheek; she yelped. Another flick and the woman was thrown out of the room. Obeying his cold glance, the Death Eaters hurried after her. Bellatrix was the last to exit, with a last, intense look at Draco. Then the door slammed shut, and the boy was left to his punishment, with no help to expect.


	15. Aftermath

**Thanks to Elo and Hannah for their reviews. **

**(hugs)**

**(squeezes)**

**If you pay attention, the last lines hold a reference to the end of the first chapter... I don't expect you all to go back and reread it, lols. Just saying. **

It was a blur; the whole world was a pale, painful blur that made him dizzy. Every time he tried to open his eyes, he saw black points dancing in front of them, blinding him, and anyway his head hurt so terribly he didn't feel the nerve to keep his eyes open. It all whirled around him. There was sobbing as well, and he was lying on a flat, cold surface.

Then he lost the only mark he had left; no more cold, and he was floating, moving yet unmoving, lost in time and surface. It lasted quite some time. The sobbing was still following him, guiding him. Then everything was soft around his body.

A familiar voice broke through his pained, newly regained peace:

"How is he?"

"How_ dare_ you even come here?" Narcissa growled.

"Please, Cissy," Bellatrix snapped, "Do you think I had a choice? Do you think I _enjoyed_ this?"

"How should I know?" Narcissa hissed, "You're certainly sick enough to enjoy torturing your own nephew!"

Draco stirred. The hissy, angry voices were disturbing him.

"Draco!" His mother had rushed to his side. "How do you feel? Are you okay? I'm so sorry, darling...."

"He'll be fine, Cissy," Bella sighed, "It's hard, but not lethal. He'll feel better in a couple of days, if not sooner."  
"Just shut up," Narcissa said shrilly.

"Mum," Draco whimpered. _Pathetic_, a voice in his mind said.

"I'm here, darling," Narcissa crooned, "It's over, you're going to be all right."

"He's not a baby any more, for heaven's sake!" Bellatrix said impatiently, "Give him a painkiller potion and get it over with!"

"GET OUT!" Narcissa screamed.

Draco opened his eyes with difficulty and glanced at the women; his furious mother, her back to him, facing Bellatrix who seemed to be hesitating, frozen in the middle of the room.

Narcissa lunged at her sister all of a sudden. Bellatrix was pushed backwards roughly, her back colliding with the door; she hurried out with a last glance at the bed.

"Creaky!" Narcissa called shrilly. A resounding CRACK made Draco cringe. "Fetch me a painkiller potion, quick!" Second CRACK. A cool hand gripped his.

"I'm here, Draco, sweetheart," she whispered tearfully, "I'm here. It's over, I promise, you're safe."

But it wasn't true... He wasn't safe, and neither was she. They were a lost and lonely mother with her child, deprived of their family leader, weak and scared, defenceless.


	16. Nighty glow

**More than 50 reviews! Wow!!!!!!!! Thank you all!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**Thanks to Elo, Sarah (you were the 50th reviewer!) and Hannah for their lovely reviews. **

He should have gotten used to it. It was a year since he had taken the Mark; the excruciating feeling of the burn shouldn't be so hard to bear any more. But it wasn't just the_ pain_. The Cruciatus was a hundred times worse, after all. The burning: it hurt his skin, sure, but it went deeper than that, it radiated through his arm, tensing his muscle suddenly set on fire, making his bone creak. It felt as if his whole arm was eaten by Dark Magic and Voldemort's presence, and it just went harder and harder until his head threatened to burst. Under the awful suffering, he dragged himself downstairs. At least he didn't have to Apparate. He would surely have vomited.

The room was dimly lit and deadly silent; their master was there. Without him the Death Eaters were loud and horribly cheerful, for most of them anyway, but with him their discipline was faultless and above reproach. The reign of terror. Ghostly silhouette, his pale skin seemed to glow and his eyes were bloodier than ever in the firelight. Draco spotted his aunt sitting halfway across the table from the Dark Lord. Bathed in orange light, she looked like some kind of foreign goddess, seen from a distance; as he walked closer, he could see she was pale and dishevelled just like he remembered her, her eyes circled with lack of sleep, focused solely on the Dark Lord and glinting faintly with something more than devotion.

Draco had scarcely ever seen her since his return from Hogwarts and the horrible night of his punishment. She kept to her room a lot, like always; but even more than she used to, for Draco avoided her – she didn't seem eager to see him either – and Narcissa seemed to have taken a loathing for her.

She could have left; she could have gone on the run with her husband, hiding at other Death Eaters', but now that the Dark Lord himself lived in Malfoy Manor, it was highly unlikely that she would leave, although any of them hardly ever saw him out of meetings. This place was not a home for her, but he was under the impression that it had never been; had the woman ever had a home? She didn't seem one to settle into a place, to run her skinny hands affectionately over an old piece of furniture, to sigh with contentment while stepping through the door, just because it felt right to be there. She was unstable. She moved all the time, loved with a passion and burnt with violence and wilderness and _life_. She had no home, no safety ever. She lived dancing on the blade of a knife. People around her got hurt, and she got hurt herself all the time, only she shrugged it away with an insane cackle, and hardly anyone noticed. Then people around her started creeping away.

It was even tenser since Lucius had returned. Narcissa and Draco had been relieved, of course; not overjoyed however, somewhere along the line they had lost the capacity to be overjoyed; yet more than ever disfavour hovered over the Malfoy family like an everlasting curse. Unlike Bellatrix, always struggling to clutch the family honor for dear life, all three of them now stayed low and kept quiet as far as possible.

Sitting next to her sister, Narcissa was staying low indeed, as was Lucius beside her. Low in the Malfoy way: both were silent, just like the others, but their faces were set like masks of calm indifference. That was how he should be himself. _Don't show any fear_, he chanted in his head as he walked forwards. _No disgust, no hesitation, no awkwardness. You are there for a reason. You are in the right. _

A move above the table caught his eye, and he gasped; some of the Death Eaters glanced at him, Bellatrix among them. His parents still practised their statue bearing. He hadn't noticed it before – who – how – he _knew_ her!

The unconscious body floated above the heads of his fellows in darkness, who didn't seem aware of it at all. It was suspended upside down, revolving a little, as if held by invisible ropes. He had seen the woman in the corridors of Hogwarts. She was petite and cheerful and always seemed to be rushing somewhere. She was the Muggle Studies teacher and probably had less than a hour left to live.

Gulping, Draco sat next to his father. Another Death Eater, whose name he couldn't recall, sat besides him a few minutes after. They waited quite a long time. Two seats were left empty and the Dark Lord waited along with them, seemingly lost in thought.

The door eventually opened and Snape walked through, closely followed by Yaxley. Draco looked away briefly. They both had been in the Tower that fateful night.

Voldemort's soft, icy voice was heard for the first time, and Draco shuddered.

"Yaxley, Snape. You are very nearly late."

The men were allotted their places, and it was Snape Voldemort then addressed the first.

"So?"

"My Lord, the Order of the Phoenix intends to move Harry Potter from his current place of safety on Saturday next, at nightfall."

Draco's stomach churned. _No_.... He had to remind himself that he hated Potter.

He had hated Dumbledore as well.

"Saturday....at nightfall," Voldemort repeated, staring straight into Snape's black eyes. Draco would have died of fear under such a malicious glare. As for Bellatrix, she was leaning forwards a little into her seat. She would surely have been delighted. She always seemed to melt and burn in her master's crimson orbs.

Yaxley intervened, distracting Draco. A petty Death Eater fight. He couldn't quite believe that he was one of these people now, they had seemed so glorious from the outside. But he had sentenced himself to discover the truth, and there was no coming back now.

Yaxley had lost already, he had lost as soon as he had opened his mouth anyway. No one could compete with Snape's cool confidence and faultless information. No one.

Not even his crazy, passionnate, riveting aunt.

The Dark Lord was talking now, more to himself than to them as it seemed; his voice was so low, so calm, so thoughtful, it had something deeply enthralling to it, and Draco understood how he had got into this whole mess again. For his father's name, for revenge, for pride, for a freaky shadow's glinting eyes and triumphant smile, and for the enthralling voice and deep, frightening eyes of a monster. This was his life and his death, his sentence for good.

The scream that pierced his ears almost seemed to be his inner voice's. Draco closed his eyes as Wormtail scurried out. _Soon I will die_, he thought.


	17. Sentences

**Thanks to Elo and Hannah for their reviews. **

"As I was saying," Voldemort continued, his attention seeming to get back to his followers – Draco cringed into his seat, scared to meet his scarlet eyes – "I understand better now. I shall need, for instance, to borrow a wand from one of you before I go to kill Potter."

_What the hell?_ was Draco's first thought. One didn't ask that. You just _couldn't_. Take a wand from its wizard? It wasn't possible. It was condemning him to helplessness and scorn – especially among them. A Death Eater without a wand wasn't really _dead_, but close enough.

"No volunteers?" their master asked with a lethal kind of calmness. Completely pitiless. Violent fear gnawed at Draco's insides. This was lethal for _him_. He felt it coming – the disaster. _Soon you will die. You have no place here. You are weak and the weak get killed. _

"Let's see... Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore."

The lightning had struck so close, a haze was clouding his mind. _He has only just come back._ His heart was beating like a frantic, maddened bell that pounded endlessly against his temples. _Don't let him be taken again._

"My Lord?"

"Your wand, Lucius, I require your wand."

"I..."

Lucius had lost some of the Malfoy's icy façade's might in the course of his year in the fortress of Azkaban. Or was it the myth his son automatically held of him? Had Lucius' voice always been this hoarse, this trembling and wary in the Dark Lord's presence? Did he always show so little pride? No, it couldn't be. The prison and the disgrace tainted his splendour, but the calm, authoritative man was still there underneath, the man able to hold his head high even while showing proper respect, in front of his all-powerful lord.

It was Narcissa holding them all together now, as it seemed. Narcissa, steadied by her love for her husband and son – or was it because her left arm was still white and pure? Narcissa who pressed her husband's wrist under the table – thank God, no one else had seen it – Narcissa who stayed collected, unmoving, while the Dark Lord compared his wand with Lucius'.

"Give you my wand, Lucius?_ My_ wand?"

Draco felt cold, frozen. The sniggers around them felt like sharp stabs into his soul.

"I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not enough for you?"

_Liberty_....

What did this word mean, anyway? He couldn't seem to remember.

"But I have noticed that you and your family seem less than happy of late... what is it about my presence in your home that displeases you, Lucius?"

Cold, soft, gentle words, a silvery net around them, getting tighter and tighter – _please, father, please save us,_ Draco thought desperately. The voice didn't come back that usually snapped at him, insulted him, blaming him for his weakness, his childish way to rely on his father for everything, his neverending fear. It was asleep tonight, his inner voice, and he was grateful for it. His eyes fell on his aunt, tensed on her chair in expectation of whatever would follow that probably would wound the family's honour again, and he averted his eyes quickly from her, in shame.

"Nothing – nothing, my Lord!"

"Such _lies_, Lucius..."

The soft hiss made Draco shudder violently. Oh no.

The snake slid slowly from under the table. Draco felt like throwing up when he thought of how close it had been. This animal terrified him as wholly as its master, but in a deeper, more physical way. Whenever Draco was around Voldemort, he felt frozen with fear; whenever he saw Nagini, or heard her hissing or sliding on the floor, his insides whirled and he felt that he was going to faint. It was like he was a helpless rabbit – her next meal. His brain felt as dumb as a rabbit's, too. The thing was, he knew that her diet was made of humans as well as rabbits. Somehow this didn't help at all.

"Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot?" Voldemort asked quietly, "Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?"

"Of course, my Lord," Lucius replied at once, "We did desire it – we do." But his voice was slightly strained with fear, and his hand was shaking as he wiped sweat from his upper lip; everyone could see it as well as he did. Narcissa nodded stiffly, her face a cold mask. Draco wondered if he should show his agreement; he quickly glanced at Voldemort, and then away again.

But there was someone else in the household who felt concerned about their dishonour, and she couldn't take it anymore.

"My Lord," Bellatrix said, her voice ringing with emotion yet slightly edgy, "It is an honour to have you here, in our family house. There can be no higher pleasure."

No one else could have spoken these words. But it was because no one else thought them. The Dark Lord knew so, he always knew.

"No higher pleasure," he repeated softly, his head tilted a little, as if in acknowledgement of her words; yet Draco felt that she would better have stayed quiet. "That means a great deal, Bellatrix, from you."

"My Lord knows I speak nothing but the truth!"

"No higher pleasure...even compared with the happy event that, I hear, has taken place in your family this week?"

Although Draco had been expecting the worst, this caught him off guard. Obviously it was the same for Bellatrix, for she paused, troubled, before speaking again softly, hesitantly.

"I don't know what you mean, my Lord."

"I'm talking about your niece, Bellatrix. And yours, Lucius and Narcissa. She has just married the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be so proud."

The room exploded in jeers, and Draco couldn't help but jump, startled. Bellatrix moved slightly backwards as well, but it wasn't so much due to surprise; the word _niece_ seemed to tear right through her, and hurt showed plainly in her features for a mere second before she got a grip again.

Draco glanced at his mother; she hadn't moved, but he thought her jaw was just a bit more clenched than it had been a second ago. Yet again, he couldn't be sure.

"She is no niece of ours, my Lord!" Bellatrix cried through her fellows' loud displaying of joy, her voice piercing through high and shrill, "We – Narcissa and I – have never set eyes on our sister since she married the Mudblood. This brat has nothing to do with either of us, nor any beast she marries!"

"What say you, Draco?" the Dark Lord asked, his quiet voice carrying through with ease, "Will you babysit the cubs?"

Once again he was expected to react, and he was unable to. His aunt glanced at him in silent desperation, pleading for help, praying that he wouldn't fail them all again; for the first time since the Hogwarts night he met her eye and didn't see disappointment, anger or rejection, but fear and helplessness, like he himself felt. Yet he could not help her, he could not be who she hoped, who she yearned him to be. Unable to hold her gaze any more than this mere fleeting second, he looked at his father, staring down at his lap, then at his mother who still seemed completely indifferent, yet managed, by the slightest nod of her head, to reassure him, very little indeed, but the most that was humanly possible right then. _Stay low and you'll be fine_, this nod meant. _You aren't the one he wished to humiliate tonight, this wasn't meant for you, keep out of this mess_. He stayed silent.

"Enough, enough," said Voldemort quietly, and the laughter died at once.

This was over for him, as Voldemort spoke of their ancient family trees again, a familiar issue. Bellatrix breathed in a relief that her voice plainly betrayed, and wry glances were shot between Death Eaters; she did not seem to care right then, but the flush of humiliation was still clear on her cheeks, and tears had come to her very dark eyes for everyone to see, though she had not shed them. Draco looked away from his aunt's pale face, he couldn't afford to care about her hurt and her anguish when himself was so obviously lost in a foreign, nightmarish world of cold-blooded murderers.

"And you, Draco?"

There was always a stab of pain, of terror, always this deadly voice to call him back to his reality, and he couldn't look up now. He shook his head. This seemed to be enough. He didn't watch as the woman who had lived for six years in the very same old castle as he was sentenced and killed, but death startled him as a crash, yet again, and he fell to the floor. Humiliated, he got back to his chair, the better to witness the snake's dinner. For tonight, this was over.


	18. Confrontations

**Thanks to Sarah, Hannah, Elo, xandromedax and kz darling for their reviews.... (wow, new people)**

All the Death Eaters had stood up, Voldemort exiting the room without any more word, and the crowd was now scattering slowly; Draco stood on shaky legs, averting his eyes from the bloody mess on the table, and the feasting snake. Yet he still was surrounded by his fellows in darkness, and he looked around wildly, feeling trapped.

His father was surrounded too, other Death Eaters talking to him with wry grins and half-concealed glares. For so long he had been among the Dark Lord's favorites, but now the wolves were free to howl. _No wand_. It hovered over him like a malediction, and his face seemed more waxy, his eyes more circled, haunted. Draco turned away. His father could still take care of himself, and he'd better do it alone, talk his way around and coax some respect with his clever words and practised appearance.

His mother had understood this as well, for she had left the room without a second glance, among the first heading out, quickly after the Dark Lord. The Malfoys had to cope each on their own by now, if they wanted to save their skins.

He glanced at the door. A crowd of Death Eaters stood pressed around it, and he felt the glares. If he tried to go now, he would suffer the consequences. Time to blend in, to try and be invisible.

A move at the corner of his eyesight suddenly caught his attention. Whereas the Malfoys had jumped up as fast as they could at the close of the meeting, Bellatrix hadn't moved from her seat until then. Draco saw her pale hands gripping the side of the table tightly, clutching it as if for balance, her knuckles white; he also noticed how skinny her hands were. She let go with an obvious effort, and whirled round to face the exit. Her eyes fell on the loose grouping of Death Eaters around the door. Her nephew saw her pale lips press together, and her jaw tense. Her makeup was a little damaged by the tears she had fought not to shed, and her eyes looked more shiny than usual. He had never seen her so vulnerable before, and he felt oddly fascinated.

Her gaze suddenly met his. She stared at him. Her face did not express any emotion, yet her eyes were wide and her features tense. He saw distress, despair in her wild gaze. She turned her head away, facing the door again.

Draco did not take any more time to think; his feet moved, one after the other, towards his escape. He would have to face them at some point, anyway.

As he got closer, the Death Eaters surrounding the door turned to face him, one by one. He looked straight ahead, his jaw tightly set against the glares, the jeers, the cackles.

"Hey baby boy! Don't like the atmosphere of murder, do you?"

"Look, the snake's next meal heading towards us!"

"Why, my boy, regrets for taking the Mark?"

"Of all the young sons of our fellows, we got the one who's got no guts!"

"Mummy and Daddy can't protect you there! How does that feel, tell me?"

_Don't show any emotion, any reaction_, he thought.

A man whose name he didn't know leaned towards him and punched him lightly on the shoulder.

"Still got a wand, eh? Wonder what you can possibly use it for!"

"We could show you a couple of tricks! Skilled about torture, we are!"

"Never saw anything out of meetings, did you?"

"I wonder why the Dark Lord even accepted you, little brat!"

"Would you mind moving out of the way, gentlemen?"

The sweet, cold voice came from right behind him, and carried clearly through the jeers.

"Hey, Bella," one of the men said coolly, "We were planning some fun here, want to be in?"

"I don't think so, but thanks," Bellatrix replied with a bit of a chill in her tone, "And I'd advise you to get your fun on Muggles. At least try and make yourselves useful."

"Oh, sure," another man hissed, "I don't remember seeing you making yourself useful recently, though. Nor this young boy, actually."

"I don't like repeating myself, Selwyn," Bellatrix shot back, "And I believe I have already asked you to get your bloody arse out of my way."

A wicked smile twisted Selwyn's mouth.

"Well, well," he breathed, "I don't know exactly how much Azkaban has damaged your brains, Bella, but I trust you still now how to count. And you are a teensy weeney bit outnumbered."

"I must suffer amnesia indeed, for I can't recall ever allowing you to call me _Bella_."

They drew out their wands at the same time; Draco felt something blazing hot brushing against his cheek, and he was roughly thrown out of the way. Selwyn's friends quickly got involved in the duel, and Bella was alone, Draco on the ground, Lucius staring helplessly halfway through the room, and there were six of them – he fumbled for his wand, panic-stricken, turning his head wildly –

A blast of light hit one of the fighters square in the face, knocking him down next to the one Bellatrix had already defeated. The man who now joined her in the fight looked faintly familiar to Draco, but he couldn't quite place a name on him. He crawled away from the danger – Lucius' stricken face appeared clearly to him from some distance –

"Stop this! STOP!"

Snape's voice hit Draco's ears, overwhelming him with a crushing wave of relief. The man hurried forward, his wand raised. By then, two more men had crashed to the floor, and the fighters were even – though certainly not in skill. Snape sent a curse which caused a small explosion, efficiently throwing the fighters apart. Bellatrix landed on the floor; leaping to her feet, she glared at Snape viciously.

"What do you think you're doing? " he asked icily.

"You're no Dark Lord, Snape," Bellatrix hissed, "This was a personal business!"

"Do you think the Dark Lord would have taken kindly to his warriors' duelling around and injuring one another?"

"There wouldn't have been any permanent damage. Merely an useful lesson learned."

"And you believed yourself fit to teach that lesson? Are you _so_ superior to them?"

"Are you _so_ superior to us?"

"I am able to control myself, and therefore other businesses. Unlike you, who should certainly question your awful temper for your failures, instead of endlessly blaming bad luck or other people."

With a feral snarl, Bellatrix raised her wand, yet her ally in the fight caught her by the wrist, pulling her arm down.

"Good job your husband can control you at least a little," Snape breathed, "I just don't want to imagine how most of things would turn out otherwise." Turning on his heels, he left the room without a second glance.

Heavy silence lingered for some time – enough for Lucius to join his son, who had got back up – then a low murmur of cackling was heard. Bellatrix, who had stayed frozen in place so far, trembling violently, punched her husband's chest as hard as she could. Yet the blow still seemed rather feeble. She stormed out; Rodolphus Lestrange calmly met the glares of their scowling opposants with his cold blue eyes, before silently disappearing after his wife. Lucius pushed his son's shoulder lightly, and they followed, out the door, into the corridors, up the stairs; yet the couple was nowhere to be seen. They had vanished, the devil knew where.


	19. Blood and tears

**Thanks to Elo, Caitlin, Hannah and The Darkest Wizard for their reviews.**

**Don't hate me for the end of this chapter, please ^^**

Draco dove towards the ground and landed so abruptly he almost crashed, breathless and deafened with the violence of his own heartbeat. Among him, his fellow Death Eaters landed swearing and cursing. They were gone, the two Weasleys they had been chasing – the father, as it seemed, and another one he hadn't really recognised, maybe one of those twins.

He had tried desperately to avoid the Dark Lord, as well as his crazed aunt whose eyes were already scanning through the night for Potter and Nymphadora Lupin; his father wasn't there to begin with, and Snape, whom he felt a bizarre need to approach, as if he could keep him safe – because although he had no trust in the man, calmness and control seemed to emanate from him – Snape stayed close to the Dark Lord, as his right hand man should. Draco could taste bitterness on his tongue. Something wasn't right, something wasn't fair – as if he hadn't got his chance. Yet one could hardly expect the Dark Lord to be completely fair, he reasoned, and after all, he had had a chance.

Only he had messed up with it.

So he had joined a loose grouping who didn't seem to give a damn about him, he had taken off into the sky, and had flown more rigid than he would have ever thought possible before, frozen on his broom and clutching it as if for dear life, ducking curses and sending some this way and that, blindly, into the darkness.

He felt the urge to vomit from the ugly terror gnawing at his chest; he had never felt so vulnerable in his life before, it was worse than running blindly from the Tower, from meeting the Dark Lord's gaze for a fleeting moment. He had no pull, no clue about his fate. He was just helpless.

"Where did they go?" he squealed pitifully.

"Protected by enchantments, boy," a Death Eater growled, "Better head back now, no use to hang around here. Bastards won't be going out anytime soon."

"Let's Apparate," another called.

Draco concentrated hard, gritting his teeth and praying not to end up splinched from terror. Yet if he had Apparated away from Hogwarts, he could Apparate back home now. Soon he felt the familiar feeling, and the Manor's gates stood before him, tall and proud.

Along with his fellows, he strode through the Manor's yards towards the great entrance, the open doors pouring light on the marble steps and the gravel of the path. There was a lot of noise, Death Eaters' loud voices booming from the grand hallway into the darkness.

As soon as he walked through the door, he heard his mother call "Draco!"

He turned to face her; she was moving to embrace him, yet she paused, hesitating, her arms half-raised. Behind her, Lucius whispered something, and she lowered her arms. He tried to smile, but his lips felt numb, his face drained of colour and movement.

"Didn't get him, didn't see any clue," one of the men coming him with Draco growled, "Who the hell had this seven Potters idea?"

"Mad-Eye, I expect," another said, "Bloody old fool."

"We definitely should get him another scar," someone commented.

"You haven't heard the news?" Rowle asked in disbelief, "Mad-Eye is dead! The Dark Lord himself killed him!"

Roars of triumph and cheers filled the hallway, making Draco cringe.

"Let us get inside," Lucius said, "Harry Potter already got away anyway, the Dark Lord wouldn't be back otherwise. If someone else was killed, we'll know it soon enough. It is useless to hover in the hallway."

With a murmur of agreement, the Death Eaters started moving towards the great drawing room.

"What's going on?" Draco asked his father, confused, "Potter escaped?"

"Yes, he did," Lucius murmured back, "He was with the giant half-breed – nice bluff. The Dark Lord headed back as soon as he was sure that Potter was beyond his reach, and that the Order's charms wouldn't break."

"Where is he now?"

"I have no idea, he stormed in and no one dared to follow."

"What about your wand?"

Lucius swallowed convulsively, and for the first time, Draco saw a flash of vulnerability in his father's eyes.

Narcissa moved towards them silently, pressing a hand on her husband's shoulder. Yet their moment was quickly interrupted; hastened footsteps and screeching voices could soon be heard. The door was thrown open, and a dark shape levitated through. Draco's stomach churned as he noticed the blood pouring from the man's body. As he was lain on the table, the young man gasped. He knew that face. He had seen it before, though not often. His uncle.

There was chaos. Snape pushed his way through the crowd towards the injured man on the table, leaning over him, and Draco stepped forward without thinking, as if pulled. His mother followed lightly.

"Shut the hell up!" he heard Bellatrix say shrilly.

"Why should I?" an enraged voice shouted, "Because you don't like what I'm telling you? But that's the truth and you can't hide from it, he was trying to help you and you didn't even try to catch him when he fell – "

A blast and a flash of light – the other man screamed in outrage. Bellatrix whirled round blindly, and Draco thought he saw tears in her eyes. His mother stood behind him, unmoving. Bellatrix stared at her husband's bleeding form, over which Snape was fussing, apparently in vain. And then she stormed out.

"Good riddance," Rabastan called after her in wrath. "Your place isn't by his side!"

Draco approached the body very cautiously, peering over Snape's shoulder. Rodolphus Lestrange's face was grayish and looked like a corpse's already. Suddenly he couldn't bear this sight anymore, and stepped back, shaking slightly. He wanted to go and see his aunt, yet he was afraid of her at the same time. His mother made no move towards the door either, and the Malfoys stayed gathered in a loose grouping as one Lestrange died, another seethed in grief and hatred, and the third fell apart on her own.

Screams had started echoing from the cellar, but Draco didn't shake anymore. He felt numb.

**Sorry, sorry, sorry to anyone who liked him. I do too, but...I have a tragical mind ;)**

**Rodolphus' death is narrated (though very shortly) in the drabble Last Fall, if anyone is interested. **


	20. Back in time

**Thanks to Elo, Hannah, xandromedax, Lillith and the Darkest Wizard for their reviews. **

**Okay, I'd like to do a very important shout-out right now. This is for Xx starlight-moon xX: surely the greatest girl I've ever met on this website, and God knows I've met wonderful persons (winks at Elo, Sarah and Caitlin). She's an incredible writer, she writes Bellatrix and the Death Eaters with a talent that never failed to amaze me, and I love her to pieces. And as our world has its absurdities, the most talented persons end up being the most insecure as well. I'm going to ask everyone of my reviewers to do a very simple thing: read something by Xx starlight-moon xX, and tell her what you think in a review. Trust me, you won't waste your time – I've read every HP fic of hers, and they're all damn good. Seriously, if you've liked my fics, I'm pretty sure you'll like them even more for the simple reason that they are better. PLEASE do it. I'll hunt you down until you do, all of you!**

**Thanks. Hey, it's for the greater good. I love you. **

**For Hannah when she reads this: don't kill me mi hunni! Lols. **

**Review reply for Lillith: :D. Don't worry, I'll continue. Hey, I'm continuing right now!**

**For the review: thanks, thanks, thanks! Oh thanks! Thanks!**

**Ahem, just a tiny thing before I shut up: this chapter is really short (when you don't count the huge AN...) and kind of transitional. I hope you people won't be too bored...**

Draco's trunk was ready. He remembered vaguely boasting to his friends about his being involved in "more important and more interesting" business after his sixth year. It felt like another life, a highly ironical one, at that. He had feared that the Dark Lord wouldn't allow him to get back – yet it had soon become obvious that he couldn't care less. He had other businesses at hand.

So the day had come. Picking up his heavy trunk, he remembered his happiness to leave a year ago, his self-confidence. How ridiculous. Scowling at the room, he left quickly.

His parents would come with him; with the new political situation, Lucius didn't have to worry about being seen. Actually, even Bellatrix could have come, if she had wanted so. However, she couldn't be bothered, and to be honest, her absence pleased Draco – although the mere idea of her walking him to the Hogwarts Express was laughable.

"Draco?" Narcissa called, "Are you ready, darling?"

"Yes, mum." _Would seem so._ He felt so weird towards his parents these days. He would have been closer to his helplessness-reduced father, surely, yet Lucius was keeping to himself a lot, as if not being able to protect his family anymore was too much for him. As for Narcissa, although fear instinctively drew him closer to her, he despised that part of himself, and though he admired her self-control in front of the Dark Lord or the others, her desire to protect him for everything was a painful reminder of his pitiful failure to prove that he was an adult. He yearned for aloneness.

Narcissa and Lucius joined him in the hallway, and all three of them headed out.

The morning was bright and quite warm, and near the fountain stood Bellatrix, facing the sun. She turned her head to watch them, and Lucius looked straight ahead, and Narcissa tensed a little. As for Draco, he felt coldness seep into his chest as he remembered the hopes she had had in him.

He would have liked to step towards her and say goodbye. He would have liked to go back in time and duel her again. He would have liked to ask her to teach him to kill without the slightest mercy in his heart.

Instead he walked straight ahead, passing her by without one more glance.

"Don't go," he heard her call harshly in his back, "I thought you wanted to be no more child!"

He whirled round. She had taken a step forward, glaring straight into his eyes, as if daring him to contradict her.

"Stay out of this, Bella," Narcissa snapped, "None of my son's choices are any of your business!"

"I mentored you," she whispered.

He couldn't bear to hold her gaze any longer. So he turned back slowly, and made his way towards the gates.

As he walked, he felt his father's hand on his shoulder, and he didn't shake it off like he might have with her mother. It brought a slight relief into his heart.


	21. Rising storm

**Thanks to Elo, Hannah and The Darkest Wizard for their review. **

**Just a question before the chapter: has my advice/order/require of last chapter been fulfilled? **

It was an evening like a hundred of evenings before. He sat in an armchair in the great drawing room with his father – a habit they had taken quite a while ago. His mother was there, as well. They didn't speak much – there wasn't much to say. And Draco got lost in thought.

It felt so right to be here when there were no Death Eaters around, when the Dark Lord was gone – although they hardly noticed his presence, for he kept to his room or study all the time, his aura seemed to hover over the Manor, and darken their mood. It wasn't real happiness, but a weird kind of peace, an alertness of mind, so unlike the numb terror he experienced most of the time, either here or at Hogwarts.

Hogwarts... It was so different now. His seventh year would soon be over, yet he had trouble believing it. What was the school now? Exams seemed such a childish prospect when your world was about terror. The only ones who weren't frightened were the ones boasting to be on the Dark Lord's side, without actually having anything to prove this boast. Lately, Crabbe and Goyle were among those. Zabini seemed neutral – agreeing silently with the dark ideals – and Pansy, most of the time, just watched from a distance. He was alone.

Draco's musings were interrupted by a cloud of smoke sliding under the door. Stopping right in front of them, it shaped itself into a great face, and a clanging, echoing voice said "Visitors at the gates!"

"Let them in!" Lucius answered, rising his eyebrows.

The smoke ghost disappeared. Lucius made a move to stand.

"I'll go," Narcissa told him, and she departed from the room. Draco watched her leave, then glanced at his father. What would it be again? What was going on?

They didn't have to wait much; the sound of heavy footsteps and kicking was soon to be heard in the corridor, and Narcissa walked back into the room, her face expressionless, followed by a gang of Snatchers, led by no other than Fenrir Greyback, and pulling a bunch of prisoners after them.

What were they doing there?

"What is this?" Lucius drawled.

"They say they've got Potter," Narcissa replied, "Draco, come here."

Terror held him in an iron grip as he walked forward slowly.

The prisoner Greyback was holding was placed directly under the chandelier; _could it be?_ Surely not, surely not... His hair was too long, his eyes mere slits behind the glasses... Yet... Draco caught a glimpse of green... Potter wouldn't look at him... His face was so distorted, it could only be by a curse...

"Well, Draco?" his father asked eagerly, "Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"

"I can't – I can't be sure," Draco stammered. It it was true... If Potter was here, it was to meet his end... He was already as good as a corpse... Draco wouldn't approach, he could not bear to approach... Yet it was it, it was them... Lucius and Greyback were shouting in excitement, quarrelling, and the prisoners were trembling, scared to death, helpless prey...

They couldn't be more different from Dumbledore, yet Draco felt the same fear... Once again, the weight, the burden was on his shoulders... He did not want them to die... And if he committed a mistake...

Draco looked them in the eye, one after the other... The Mudblood... He recognized her without a doubt... And Weasley, and maybe another Gryffindor... What now, what could he do? He could not go on like this, unable to harm those people he had hated fiercely, just because he _knew_ them...

"I don't know," he told his father. It wasn't really a lie... He walked away...

"We had better be certain, Lucius," Narcissa said then. His mother, always the voice of wisdom, their support in this storm... Draco kept in the background... Let them forget him... He couldn't face it...

Yet he had no choice, as the Mudblood was pushed forward into the light, as Narcissa herself recognized her...

"I..."

He didn't know, no, but he knew, he _knew_...

"Maybe..."

It would happen anyway, it was a good thing, it was good... Just one word was important today, he had to say it... It wasn't even a dangerous one...

"Yeah."

There.

He hadn't done anything for that weird Lovegood girl, wasting away in his cellar for months... Why would he protect a bunch of filthy Gryffindor enemies?

Anyway – no use to fret, now. Potter and his friends were done for. Lucius had recognized Weasley now – no doubt was left...

"What is this? What's happened, Cissy?"

Draco started at the sound of his aunt's voice. He hadn't seen her in ages, yet surely she would appear in such a moment. He had almost forgotten what she was like, as it seemed, and watched her take control of the situation as if she were a complete stranger. Maybe she was one, what had he ever known about her?

Perceptive enough to recognize Granger right away, though she had only seen her once or twice.

Passionate and loyal enough to want the triumph of handing Potter to the Dark Lord for herself, although she wouldn't be the rewarded one at the end. Short-tempered enough to fight with Lucius for this right, had he had a wand; overproud enough not to use this unfair advantage against him.

Yearning for nothing but the Dark Lord's approval and favour.

Cryptic and unpredictable.

Draco did not try to understand why Bellatrix was suddenly so frantic about the Snatchers' sword; he did not care. He did not admire his aunt's incredible skill, he had witnessed it many times before, felt it in his own flesh, even. He stared at his hesitating, helpless father, at his frozen mother, at the trembling prisoners; he saw suffering to come, glory already fading away, anguish and terror, and for the first time, he felt a surge of sheer hatred for the petite warrior who was tearing their lives apart, along with hers, blind to everything but glowing red eyes.

"Draco, move this scum outside," she ordered sharply, her voice edgy and shrill with distress, "If you haven't got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me."

_I'll rather kill them,_ he thought, _It will do them a favour_.

He tried to meet his aunt's gaze, yet she had already turned away. Before he could make a move, Narcissa exclaimed fiercely:

"Don't you dare speak to Draco like – "

"Be quiet!" Bellatrix screamed back, cutting her off, "The situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy! We have a very serious problem!"

Her head shot back and forth, before she looked back down at the sword in her hands. She was clutching it so tightly that Draco thought he saw a bit of blood seeping, as her hand slid on the blade so she could examine the hilt. She whirled round again. Her eyes looked mad, drowned in frantic desperation.

This time, Draco pitied her.

"The prisoners must be placed in the cellar, while I think what to do!"

"This is my house, Bella," Narcissa shot back, seemingly unaware of the danger in her determination to put her sister back in her place, "You don't give orders in my – "

"Do it!" Bellatrix shrieked, drowning her sister's voice in her ferocity once more, "you have no idea of the danger we are in!"

This time Narcissa obeyed. And it was Greyback...who had been helpless so far, neutralized by Bellatrix... who had watched in silence... who was now handed the helpless prisoners. They were on their way to a little hell of the Malfoys'... Headed to join the Lovegood girl and Ollivander... Before an even worse fate awaited them. All except Granger.

Bellatrix had said "Yet", he reasoned, and tore his gaze from the nearly drooling werewolf, to focus on the Mudblood. She was shaking...

She was right.

The first scream soon erupted from her throat, and Draco closed his eyes.


	22. Freefall

**Thanks to Elo, Hannah and The Darkest Wizard for their reviews. 80 reviews! Yay!**

Watching Bellatrix Lestrange questioning a prisoner was something Draco thought he would never forget. Away from her master's severe glare, indifferent to the frightened audience, therefore completely unleashed, free to let go of her control and set her insane distress loose, she tormented the Mudblood with a ferocity he had never seen yet – and he had seen a lot from her.

He would not watch the struggling girl, yet he still heard the screams. This he couldn't help. He heard her talk too, and hoped, for her, that she told the truth.

"Draco, fetch the goblin," Lucius ordered, "He can tell us whether the sword is real or not!"

Did his father know just how awful this was for him, Draco wondered, or did he only think of the triumph maybe to come? He didn't care that much. Clutching his wand, he stormed out.

Hurrying to the cellar, he heard a lot of noise. Had they broken free? Yet it mattered little, they couldn't escape anyway... His control mattered... "Stand back," he ordered, "Line up against the back wall. Don't try anything, or I'll kill you!"

He would have done it, he was sure of it then. To save his skin – and shorten their agony. But they didn't move, and Draco tore the goblin from the darkness, hauling it after him. Under the slamming of the door, he thought he heard a Apparation-like _crack_. He thought... And then he stopped caring, and just marched the tiny creature, whose arm he was squeezing as if for dear life, to Bellatrix.

After delivering it, he backed into a corner and tried to tune everything out. Only one more scream pierced through his ears.

The _crack_ that followed made him jump. He had been right.

"What was that? Did you hear that? What was that noise in the cellar?" Lucius shouted, his voice betraying his stress for the first time. "Draco – no, call Wormtail! Make him go and check!"

Wormtail. Draco had forgotten his mere existence so far, he was even more elusive than Bellatrix. He strode away again to look for the Animagus, faintly grateful.

He didn't have to go far; the man was concealed in the shadows of the stairs, listening to the noises and screams.

"Go to the cellar, see what is going on!" Draco ordered him.

Wormtail scurried away. The boy whirled back, amazed at his fellow's obedience. Was he so cowardly that he even outdid Draco Malfoy?

In the drawing room, people were silent now, listening. But there wasn't anything to hear.

"What is it, Wormtail?" Lucius called after a while.

"Nothing, all fine!" the man called back with an odd voice.

Right away, the attention was focused on the two prisoners again. Bellatrix was holding Granger by the hair; she glared eagerly at the goblin. She had never let go of the sword, and she now held one blade in each hand, the silver knife, stained with the girl's blood, pressed against her scalp. Striding across the room, dragging Granger after her, she threw the sword into the goblin's hands.

"Can you tell us if this sword is a fake?" she breathed.

The girl suddenly struggled; with a roar of frustration, Bellatrix threw her knife to the floor, grabbing her wand instead, and Granger's scream echoed shrill in Draco's head. His aunt dropped the girl like a bag of potatoes; she didn't move again. The goblin was looking down at the sword in his hands.

"Well?" Bellatrix asked eagerly, "Is it the true sword?"

"No, it is a fake," it answered.

"Are you sure? Quite sure?" Bella panted. She sounded ready to collapse with stress, her whole frame was shaking; yet Draco knew that she would hold on.

"Yes," the goblin said curtly.

She exhaled a deep sigh of relief; her eyes almost closed, all tension draining from her body.

"Good," she said, and she cut the creature's face with a quick spell, before kicking it out of her way. "And now, we call the Dark Lord!" she exclaimed gleefully.

Pushing her sleeve back, she pressed her finger against the Mark; Draco felt his burn.

"And I think we can dispose of the Mudblood," she said quickly; she still sounded high with excitement, and Draco wondered how her nerves could possibly take it. "Greyback, take her if you want her."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

This was possibly the greatest shock yet; Draco didn't even think of drawing his wand right away, though a fight had broken out in the room, in a matter of seconds, a blink of an eye. The prisoners had got free somehow... But no, there were only Potter and Weasley here; where were the others? He saw Bellatrix lose her wand with the effect of surprise, and leap for her knife; his father collapsed; his mother and Greyback were throwing curses at Potter, and regaining his senses, he sent a Stunning Spell...

"STOP OR SHE DIES!"

Bellatrix had grabbed Granger again, and was threatening to rip her throat out; and the stupid Gryffindors surrendered thier lives, as they did their wands, to save their friend who would die anyway... On his aunt's orders, he collected those wands; it was over and they had won – what was that noise?

The great crystal chandelier, that Narcissa loved so much, was falling, and Bellatrix stood beneath it; she leapt aside with a scream, and the chandelier crashed on the goblin and the Mudblood. Crystal flew everywhere, and terrible pain inflamed his face as it was stabbed by the shards.

He felt the wands wrested out of his hand, heard the scream of "_Stupefy!_"; and then it was his mother's hands grabbing him, dragging him away, pushing him behind her.

"Dobby!" she screamed suddenly, "You! _You_ dropped the chandelier – ?"

_Their elf?_

"You must not hurt Harry Potter," the creature squeaked. It was definitely an elf's voice...

"Kill him, Cissy!" Bellatrix shrieked; but then there was a third _crack_...

Draco couldn't understand what was going on – they were suddenly losing everything – a freefall. He would hear Bellatrix screeching at the elf, Potter yelling something to Weasley, and then the fourth _crack_ resounded, ending it all – this time, he knew exactly what it meant, somehow.

_Game over. _


	23. Thunder's voice

**Thanks to Elo, Hannah and The Darkest Wizard for their reviews. **

He could only feel pain, sharp pain in his face; pain on his arm too, where his mother's clammy fingers held him in an iron grasp. He opened his eyes ever so slowly, carefully. That was it: Potter was gone.

The feeling that engulfed his soul felt like relief.

And then he looked around. Greyback, on the floor. His father...he was only stunned, only _stunned_... Bellatrix, frozen like a statue in the middle of the room, white-faced, her empty hands stinging... His mother's hands pressing his arm as if she wanted to dig her fingers into his flesh and never let him go...

_The Dark Lord is coming, Harry Potter! Your death approaches! _

They were done for.

He closed his eyes very tightly. Maybe he had dozed off in his armchair, and Potter had never been here. Maybe it had all just been a nightmare. He hadn't faced Dumbledore yet – he hadn't received this mission to begin with – never felt his forearm burn – his father had never set foot in Azkaban – the Dark Lord was dead, dead, dead, never to come back, his aunt would rot in her cell forevermore and there would be no more Dark Mark hovering in the sky EVER EVER EVER

The door opened and closed very quietly. Draco opened his eyes again – only to meet bloody red ones.

"Where is he?" the ice cold voice asked softly.

No one answered. Narcissa's fingers had slackened a little. Lucius still lay defeated on the floor. Bellatrix opened and closed her mouth, her eyes wide with terror. Draco felt weak in the knees.

"_Crucio!_"

It hit them one after the other, quick as lightning. Their screams all seemed to melt into one.

It stopped.

"I want explanations," Lord Voldemort said. His voice was deadly cold.

Lucius had awakened to his worst nightmare, as it seemed. He sat up slowly, shaking.

"My Lord," he started, "We...we had him, my Lord... We did... But..."

"But he escaped. How?"

Lucius swallowed. "He – he had outside help, my Lord."

"Who?"

Silence.

"_Who?_"

"That..." Bellatrix stuttered, "That house-elf."

Voldemort stared at her. "_I beg your pardon?_"

"He Apparated them away, my Lord!" she yelped; she seemed to feel that she had made a mistake by drawing his attention to her – especially for such a detail.

"A house-elf," Voldemort said coolly, "What a great match for a houseful of purebloods, indeed."

He did not speak the curse this time, yet the agony induced by his wrath raged into their bodies, one after the other, with the intensity of a bomb. First Bellatrix, then Lucius – Narcissa – Draco – Bellatrix again.

"I want an explanation, not some nonsense about house-elves," Voldemort said smoothly, "Bella, since you seem so eager to blabber your defence, you will provide it."

Bellatrix took a deep breath. "We had them, my Lord," she spoke quickly, "They were safely locked in the cellar, but they got away somehow... Wormtail had gone to check on them... Then they took us by surprise, and the elf nearly dropped the chandelier on me, and he took them away..."

"It was the former family elf, my Lord, he knew the place. Potter had tricked me into freeing him years ago," Lucius added hesitantly.

"Amazing," Voldemort said calmly, "Elves defeat their masters – "

– _pain_ –

"A wandless teenager gets away with a bunch of his friends because of a mere effect of surprise – "

– _PAIN_ –

"A safe cellar becomes like a sieve in one evening – "

He abruptly stopped, and his breathing seemed to catch.

"Ollivander?"

Only silence answered him.

"I see..." he whispered.

The pain didn't stop this time, until everything went black.

**More Voldemort wrath in the next chapter ;)**


	24. You try, you fail, you cry

**Thanks to Elo, Hannah and The Darkest Wizard for their reviews. **

**Voldy's wrath, part two :D**

He awoke to the sound of screaming. It seemed to last hours – a female voice shrieking in an agony beyond words – before it broke in one last high screech.

He heard the sound of sobbing then.

"Shut up," the Dark Lord's voice snapped, and the sound died down.

"Explain."

"It was the sword, my Lord," Bellatrix panted, "It was just a copy, but I couldn't tell then, I had to be sure..."

"And you decided to check before calling me, out of fear of my reaction?"

"Yes."

"And they listened to you?"

"Yes."

"So if you had called me earlier, Potter would be dead by now, and the falseness of that sword proven; are you conscious of that?"

"I am..."

"To sum things up, you are telling me that yet another disaster is to be blamed on your stupidity?"

There was a short silence.

"Answer."

"Yes, my Lord," Bellatrix murmured brokenly.

There was more screaming then; Draco's eyes had opened as if on their own accord, and he stared up at the tall silhouette of the Dark Lord.

He raised his wand, breaking the curse; his red eyes bore straight into Draco's.

"What do you think, Draco?" he asked softly, "What do you think of her? What do you think of this?"

Draco remained silent for a few seconds; his brain was numb, unable to come up with a suitable answer, despite the insane rushes of adrenaline.

"Failure," he croaked, "We failed."

"I know that, Draco," the Dark Lord replied coldly, "Something else?"

He tried to call his mental faculties back. "We should...we should have called you earlier, my Lord."

"And why didn't you do it?"

A pause. "Because of her," he finally breathed.

"That isn't enough of a reason for me, Draco," the Dark Lord snapped.

"She told us not to. We listened..."

"And why?"

Once again, he was quiet.

"Were you so afraid of her, all of you, that she could order you around in you own home?"

"She...seemed sure..."

"And you weren't?"

The Dark Lord's eyes were getting more and more intense; Draco could tell that he was looking deep into his soul, yet he couldn't do anything to protect himself. He probably wouldn't have anyway; it would have been too dangerous – however, it was still an awful sensation, to be trapped under his Lord's inspection, completely helpless.

It stopped.

"Oh, Draco," the Dark Lord whispered, "If all of you are just as weak and scared as she is unreliable and brainless, what am I going to do with your whole lot?"

He did not answer; there was nothing to say, no way out of this nightmare.

"What should you have done?"

This was easy. "Call you right away, my Lord. As soon as we were sure it was Potter."

"Who should have?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Everything matters, Draco."

"The first able to do it would have done it. It wouldn't have changed anything..."

There was a short pause. Draco was dangerously close to tears, yet his mind felt clearer than anytime before.

"What mattered then, tell me?"

"Not...to let them...out of sight."

Bellatrix emitted a strangled sob. The Dark Lord didn't seem to have heard her. He only looked at Draco.

"Well then, if you've got all the right answers, what's your excuse for not applying them? "

"I have no excuse, my Lord," he whispered.

Voldemort smiled coldly. "Good boy," he replied. "Yet...you see, Draco... Lucidity has its importance, don't get me wrong, yet it is not enough for me."

He looked down at the sobbing Bellatrix.

"Lack of lucidity, however," he went on calmly, "is something I don't appreciate either. Blindness leads to weakness, doesn't it Bella?"

She didn't say anything, just lay there, curled up at his feet, shaking violently.

Crouching down, he whispered in her ear, and Draco could make out the soft, icy words as they smoothly slid out of his mouth, and penetrated her heart neatly, like a cool blade:

"Never forget that you are my greatest failure, my pet."

He straightened up.

"My Lord," she croaked.

He didn't even acknowledge her.

"You are confined to the house," he spoke slowly, precisely uttering each word, "All of you."

He strode out, leaving them on the floor, and Draco tried to regain his breath.


	25. Tell me who I am

**Thanks to Elo, Hannah, Rachel-Not and The Darkest Wizard for their reviews**.

For a while he just lay there, listening to the muffled, strangled sounds as his aunt fought to suppress her sobs, and then, like a violent epiphany, he remembered his parents.

Straightening up as well as he could, he crawled towards them. Greyback was still knocked out – he paid him no mind. Instead, he crouched over his mother, shaking her gently. "Mum...mum," he whispered. He had lost his wand, he realized, as the word _Enervatum_ spontaneously came to his mind.

Her pale blue eyes opened.

"Mum..."

"Dra...co." She took a slow, painful breath.

"_Mum_..."

A noise, behind him. He turned slowly.

Unsteady on her legs, Bellatrix staggered out of the room. A warm – no – a blazing hot feeling of fury engulfed his chest. He looked down at his mother's pale face, pale cheeks wet with tears, and then he crawled towards his father. Lucius was quite ragged, and wouldn't wake up – yet he was breathing steadily.

Oh, how his limbs hurt – but he held his ground anyway, wavering on his painful legs. He took one step. Then another. Towards the door. _Door._ His mother had crawled towards Lucius, too. They needed some time, the two of them. The house elf would come, bring potions, bandage – maybe even a healer, if it was required – Greyback would be thrown out. The bodies, too. Bodies he hadn't moved. Wormtail, once awakened, would go to his room without a fuss, only too glad to have missed the storm... And the bodies didn't lie in the courtyard...

Draco didn't belong in this moment, in this fussing of despair and hurt and tiny, tiny comforts, in the smell of potions when your eyes became oh, so heavy, he wouldn't soothe it all away, he wouldn't sleep it all away. He had business elsewhere, and his train of thought was urging him on.

He limped, pitifully, yet limped on. _Door._ Corridor. Doors. Out.

The night was deep. He could hear the fountain playing quietly from a distance. The bodies weren't there. They had never been there. But she would have come.

And indeed, there she was, curled up in a ball at the bottom of a yew, hugging her knees to her chest.

"I didn't think you would run away," he said coldly.

Her eyes flashed up, wrath burning in her gaze.

"Are you really in any position to give me lessons of courage?" she spat. "I'm in no patient mood, Draco, don't push me too far."

"You are in no threatening state," he snapped back,"You are as I am, right now, right here, pained and defeated. And broken – so much more than I am. For once, I would feel like being truthful."

She snorted.

"Oh, great," she breathed, "Truthfulness, my old friend. Well, spit it out, what is it you wish to say?"

They glared daggers at each other for a short while, with glowing eyes.

"We got caught in your mess tonight," he stated.

"Why didn't you stop me then?" she shot back.

"I won't deny it," he hissed, "Yet. You live in our house, and you insult us, order us around."

"No," she told him, "Don't hide behind that line. _You live in our house._ I've heard it all before. Just throw me out then."

He just looked into her eyes.

"I would go," she said as if challenging him to contest her, "I would."

He nodded slowly.

"Don't you have the guts for anything, any of you?" she whispered. "You want me out, send me away! Can't you just love and hate people in the open, or are you nothing but icy-blooded statues?"

"You have never left," he said thoughtfully, "That's because of him."

For the first time, she winced.

"I stayed, for my reasons," she told him defiantly, "but ever since I came back from Azkaban, I haven't seen any of you be straight and sincere with me. You conceal. You _lie_, to me, to each other, and in the end, to yourselves."

He was quiet then.

"Well," she whispered, "at least, you all belong together."

"You could belong too, if you cared just a little bit –"

"Shut up," she cut him off fiercely, "Just shut up. You know nothing about what I care for, you little _brat_."

There was a pause.

"There's only him," he said, "Don't deny it."

"Not only," she replied defensively, "I would have gone mad."

Hoarsely, painfully, he began laughing. It didn't last, really, it couldn't.

"Madder than I already am, anyway. Oh well, if that's possible."

"I don't know," he murmured, breathless, "I don't know what mad is. I thought I did... You do seem somewhat logical."

She shook her head.

"You know nothing," she said, "Nothing."

"I do know that my family suffers," he answered angrily.

She laughed shrilly.

"Well, I have news for you, we all do! Looks like you made all the wrong choices!"

"I admit it."

She closed her eyes.

"I thought you knew what you were doing," she spoke through her clenched teeth, "I thought that deep down, you were a man!"

"You thought you could get a nice new recruit, to bring favour on the family again, and as it happens, on yourself."

She leapt to her feet, glaring fiercely at him.

"_As it happens,_" she snarled, "You were my protégé. You might not care about that part, but for me, it meant _something_."

"I don't know what it meant, for you, but I was the one who needed help!"

"Did you ask?" she shot back.

He didn't know what to answer for a moment. "I saw in your mind," he finally said, "while you taught me Legilimency. I caught glimpses, and only saw him."

"If I cared for nothing but him," she murmured, "I don't know what I'd be... Maybe just dead."

"I don't know," he said, "It doesn't really show. But I do see you quite alone."

She gave me no answer. The aggressivity had drained from her face; denial was over and she looked somehow like a lost little girl, tired and defeated and helpless and broken, and so very alone.

Draco turned away.


	26. Trapped

**All right, this is my last pre-written chapter – but unless I really have to face author's block, I should be able to update next Sunday, all the same.**

**I hope these last chapters don't disappoint anyone. The last battle part, haha. I have to admit I'm a bit scared. **

**(crawls away from writing)**

**(forces self to go back)**

**Wish me luck ;-)**

**Okay, on to the review-thanking: wow, many to do! Thanks to Hannah, Elo and The Darkest Wizard as usual. Thanks to my new reviewers, Victoria Venom and oakdown. And thanks to the amazing Sarah for her four reviews. It's so great to get your reviews again, dearie 3**

**I love you all!**

He wasn't sleeping, as usual. Draco had been sitting in the common room for a while, staring at the dying fire, when he suddenly felt his Mark burn.

He was used to the pain, to the surge of terror that always went with it; but this was different. It wasn't the Dark Lord calling...he could tell – they all could. It was a summon meant for Him. And it came from Alecto Carrow.

This could only mean one thing.

_Potter. _

Draco felt his head whirling. He stood abruptly, but his legs were weak, and he had to grab the armchair for support.

_Potter. _

Oh, it wasn't so surprising. After all, the Dark Lord had thought that Potter would try and break into Hogwarts, and he had let his Death Eaters know. Snape and the Carrows had known... And so had Draco.

Yet somehow, he had never truly believed it. He thought that however important this thing Potter was looking for could be, the Gryffindor wouldn't come back, wouldn't be reckless enough to walk straight into the deadly trap Hogwarts had become.

Well, he was proved wrong. Potter would be captured now... It would be the end of hope, for the Order.

Draco sat down again, closing his eyes. The Dark Lord was going to come, he realized. Potter would die by his hand. The Dark Lord, here, in Hogwarts... The mere idea made him shudder.

But Potter would be a prisoner, until the Dark Lord came...

Draco straightened up suddenly. What if the other teachers rebelled against the Carrows and Snape? What if they freed Potter?

Was it possible? Snape was a gifted wizard... Yes, but McGonagall...

Draco's head felt heavy, so heavy. Anyway, he thought, the Dark Lord would get Potter, in the end... There was no way he could flee...

The door of the common room burst open. Slughorn froze, his eyes focused on Draco. The little man looked briefly around before he rose his wand to his own throat. A second later, his magically magnified voice was heard, seemingly reverberating from the common room's very walls.

"_Wake up and get down there, all of you! There's an emergency!_"

Draco remained frozen, staring at Slughorn. The man was avoiding his eyes. That was it... Potter had been captured... Yet why wake all the students up? That made no sense – _unless_...

"The school is going to be under attack," Slughorn said hoarsely when all the students had arrived, sleepy and in their night clothes. "We're going to evacuate you all. Come on – to the Great Hall."

_Potter is free. _

Draco stood there, feeling icy, as the students left by small groups.

A fight. Then the Carrows and Snape were probably defeated, or the students would have been kept in their common rooms until all danger was over.

And Potter was still there... He would stay... He would fight.

Or... would he go looking for that object the Dark Lord didn't want him to find?

But where could it possibly be?

Draco let out a small gasp. Of course. His mind would forever hold a special link to that room. It couldn't be anywhere else...

_I can get him then_, he thought. His mind felt numb. He couldn't think straight, but that fact was there, blunt, there was no way to escape it. He couldn't and wouldn't escape it, and it might be his salvation.

He ran out with the other students, his eyes scanning the Slytherin ranks desperately.

He would need help.


	27. Dance of fate for whose who wait

**Thanks to Sarah, Elo, Hannah, Hanna (welcome among my reviewers dearie! -hugs-) and The Darkest Wizard for their reviews. 110 reviews! I'd never have dreamed of it! Thank you so much girls. I love you all.**

**As last week this is the last chapter I have ready on my comp, but I think I should be able to write the next for next Sunday without too much trouble...**

**Love!**

When Draco realized that the Room wouldn't let them in, he thought he would either die of stress and fear, or Crabbe would kill him for bringing Goyle and he apart of the other students under a false pretence; but thankfully, soon some Gryffindors and former members of Dumbledore's Army could be seen running from the room, and he managed to keep his suspicious fellows patient. Again and again he repeated that Potter would come there, he was sure, he was _sure_; and the promise of a reward beyond their greatest dreams won against their impatience, their fear, their stupidity. He had a hard time keeping them concealed and unmoving, however; Crabbe wanted to fight, he couldn't get the stupid idea out of his stupid head, it kept playing over and over like a mantra and sense could not bring it out. His promises were enough to let him stay in command, yet not enough to make that position truly safe, and he lived what felt like hours and hours of agonizing terror, pressed against the wall with a Disillusionment Charm keeping him from view, ready to shield himself, knowing that Crabbe and Goyle were there, and that if their idiocy took the best of them, and they walked forward unconcealed, they were lost, and he was lost, all in one in great danger from the battle and ripped from his only hope, Potter. The Dark Lord's voice, that had seemed to freeze his insides, seemed to play on and on in his head: "Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded... _Give me Harry Potter..._"

_Or you shall die_.

For him there was no choice, no excitement, no hope of a reward; a life for a life, only Potter's could save his. And his parents', he thought. Potter was worth any life, in the Dark Lord's eyes. The boy's fate was sealed. How ironic, if his death could save his enemy's skin.

Far away in the distance, bursts of light could be seen. It was beautiful, like death can be when you're looking at it from a distance; quick, clean, almost elegant, like a dance of fate. But he had seen death too closely, and all he could feel was pain and terror. He thought of her, his mentor; she had failed to teach him the beauty of pain and death, but maybe he just wasn't messed up enough to enjoy it. He wanted to think that. She would be out there, at the foot of a castle, and death would dance with her and follow in her footsteps; with pain, and misery, her long-time friends. She would be fighting, maybe with her husband's wand, as he waited here, and maybe she would look up, and think of him, and wonder...for a fleeting second, before her mind leaped back to the battle eagerly.

_I'm not doing this for you._

_Dance, black angel, and don't ever think of me._

The world trembled, though not quite ready to collapse; it was like a reminder, his destiny smirking at him as he fought to remain upright.

And then it was them, all three of them together, those they had waited for. The Golden Trio, as he has once heard someone call them. How fitting, he thought. Gold and blood, and on both sides, a desperate quest.

"I know what the diadem looks like, and I know where it is," Potter was saying.

_Diadem._

He felt his friends – if he could still call them that – tense next to him, and quickly touching their arms, he kept them waiting just for a few more minutes. _Not now._

"He hid it exactly where I hid my old Potions book, where's everyone's been hiding stuff for centuries."

_Our fate is hidden there, Potter. You don't know what secrets that Room holds. You don't know all the pain it sheltered. I would know._

Together, they stormed into the Room, as the world trembled around them. He walked to the wall – and as some part of him had already foreseen, he couldn't go in.

He pushed the fear back firmly, kept breathing as he took a step back, one breath at a time, slowly, slowly, surely, one breath at a time, and he whispered: "They'll come back out. It won't be long. Just a little more time to wait."

"You sure?" Goyle growled.

"_Yes_."

He wasn't. But it couldn't be otherwise, really. His fate has to unroll, somehow.

They did come out, with the Weasley girl and some Auror he didn't give a damn about. It would be even. It would. Three against three, schoolboys become warriors, once again face to face. But were they warriors, were they even, or were they just little boys and girls, lost in something too big for them. He couldn't tell.

This time, Potter stopped before the door, and Draco knew that now was the time. He knew. He always had.

He walked forward, and the room of his greatest failures opened for him.


	28. Violence strikes

**Thanks to Elo, Sarah, Hanna, Hannah and TragicSlytherin for their reviews.**

They walked in side by side, their wands drawn. He tried to be silent, and once again he thought of his aunt, her light, feline stride, her cackle breaking the silence abruptly. Why did he always have to think of her at the most important times? He couldn't fail now. He had no right to – no right to. He wasn't a young boy, a frightened little protégé anymore; he was a man. He had killed, he had tortured, he had cried for horrors no one should have to witness. And here he was, back to the past and to the terror, his old friend, endlessly gnawing at his insides. He needed to shut his inner voices up. Stop feeling sorry for himself. Salvation wouldn't be waiting for him.

He had to run for it.

The enemies, the prey were there; but they had split up – all the better. He could hear Potter's hastened footsteps, and he saw, from a distance, the violent red of Weasley's hair, the Mudblood's curly mane hurrying in different aisles. Smoothly, he fell into step after his lifelong enemy. A lot less smoothly, Crabbe and Goyle followed, and he mastered his anger and impatience. They didn't know, they didn't_ see_; they thought it was a game, childishly aggressive and eager for their reward, for a treasure hidden somewhere, worthiness and honors. They didn't know what he needed them for, but he did. They were his assets, maybe his one and only chance.

He couldn't make it alone.

But let's face it, he hadn't made it earlier either, with trained Death Eaters at his sides...

Potter. He fought to focus. _Potter_. Closer and closer with each step. _Potter._

There he was.

Back turned. Hand outstretched. Vulnerable.

Once, a former protégé of his mentor's had turned him a squirming little animal for attacking an enemy whose back was turned.

Irony... It was the same.

He raised his mother's wand. All of a sudden, here they were, Crabbe and Goyle. Pushing him back, they stood with her wands raised as well.

Ready to kill.

He had learned his lesson. The Dark Lord wanted the boy alive. But for once, he couldn't bring himself to be cowardly..._stinking...scummy..._

"Hold it, Potter," he heard himself say.

The Chosen One whirled round. Barely able to see him, he peered between Crabbe and Goyle, and his eyes fell on the stick gripped tightly in Potter's hand.

"That's my wand you're holding, Potter," he hissed, pointing Narcissa's in the small space between Crabbe and Goyle. He didn't like this – it wasn't going like he had thought it would. Potter was helpless and not quite at the same time, Weasley and Granger were close, too close... And his accomplices wouldn't move to let him see better, to assess the situation...

At the same time... It was his fault that Potter didn't have his back turned anymore. He had chosen his fate, without giving it a second thought.

How Gryffindor of him.

"Not anymore," Potter replied, "Winners, keepers, Malfoy. Who's lent you theirs?"

"My mother," he answered mechanically. Potter started laughing; his laugh sounded different, less natural, a bit too high, and Draco realized that he, too, had seen a lot, had seen too much in too short a time._ He didn't have to torture people_, he thought. _Please, let me not start dwelling on Potter. Act, Draco, act!_

"So how come you three aren't with Voldemort?" Potter asked.

Dumbledore. He was talking like Dumbledore. Asking why, asking how. Gaining time.

Because they wouldn't do it, and he knew.

"We're gonna be rewarded," Crabbe said, beaming. "We 'ung back, Potter. We decided not to go. Decided to bring you to 'im."

_Don't talk to him, don't answer,_ he wanted to say, yet his tongue felt tied. _You won't be able to strike afterwards. Just don't. _

"Good plan," Potter had said, "So how did you get in here?"

"I virtually lived in the Room of Hidden Things all last year, I know how to get in," he heard himself say.

Why, oh why did he lose control of his brain, of his tongue, while facing a person he ought to attack?

"We was hiding in the corridor outside! We can do Diss-lusion Charms now!" Goyle grunted, speaking – if you could call it that – for the first time. "And then, you turned up right in front of us and said you were looking for a die-dum. What's a die-dum?"

The boy sounded like he could barely speak English, and indeed, troll would have been more suitable for him. It was a pity he didn't have enough power to throw wordless curses, it would have prevented him from needing months of practise to even speak the incantation right. Yet he could still help. But it was Crabbe who was his better chance – for Crabbe was bolder and greedier, for Crabbe was blood-thirsty, and his unability to think straight wasn't a problem for him: he didn't even want to. Crabbe was the danger, he realized. He only needed someone to point him the target. Crabbe knew nothing of life, yet he knew the two words to bring death, and other, more cruel words, more cruel ways the Carrows had taught him. His brain didn't work quite quick enough to let him hesitate. Crabbe was death and violence at its purest form, under the ugly mask of stupidity.

He only had to be controlled; yet he was out of _his_ control.

"_Descendo!_" he shouted towards Weasley's voice, coming from another aisle. Walls started to crash.

"Ron! _Finite!_" Draco heard Potter scream; seeing Crabbe about to repeat the spell, he lunged forward, grasping his fellow's arm, desperately trying to avoid an ultimate disaster.

"No!" he cried, "If you wreck the room, you might bury this diadem thing!"

"What's the matter?" Crabbe growled, pushing him away, "It's Potter the Dark Lord wants, who cares about a die-dum?"

"Potter came in there to get it! So that must mean..."

"'Must mean'?" Crabbe repeated aggressively, "Who cares what you think? I don't take your orders no more, _Draco_. You an' your dad are finished."

Draco paled; he knew then that he had lost the thinning influence he ever had on them, knew how much of a mistake it had been to bring them here. He had no control over such a wild force of nature. Crabbe would strike and strike as a hurricane, and Crabbe would destroy.

_He_ would be destroyed.

He still tried to hold his former friend back though, tried to make him understand that one, crucial thing. "The Dark Lord wants him alive!" he screamed, yet it was of no use. Crabbe screamed back at him and pushed him away, but Draco still pulled out of the way of the Mudblood's curse. He saw a first flash of green light, and soon his mother's wand flew out of his grasp.

Hell had broken loose.


	29. Crimson touch

**Thanks to Sarah, Hannah, Hanna and The Darkest Wizard for their reviews.**

Draco's heart was beating furiously, frantically. He was wandless again.

His friends weren't though... There was still hope...

"Don't kill him!" he cried, seeing them aiming at Potter. "DON'T KILL HIM!"

They paused, the threat hanging in mid-air.

"_Expelliarmus!_"

Potter's signature curse Disarmed Goyle. At the very same time, his friends appeared, sending curses flying their way.

_Lost. _

He dived aside, trying to hide frantically; but then he heard a sickening roar he knew all too well.

_Fiendfyre._

Potter tried to extinguish the flames, but Draco knew it was useless. Grabbing Goyle, who was lying on the floor, Stunned, he tried to run, but the weight of his friend was holding him back... Crabbe outstripped them, looking horrified at his own creation... But there was no time to dwell on this, not now. No time to wonder where the Trio was, either. Suddenly he saw charred desks, not so far away, and an overwhelming wave of hope took his breath away. Desperate, he reached them, pulled them together, not feeling his protesting muscles, not feeling the weight, fighting for his life for what could very well be the last time. Shakily he climbed, still dragging Goyle along, unable to bring himself to let go; he couldn't die, and his friends couldn't die, it just couldn't happen, it couldn't, couldn't... Maybe... maybe if he could haul just another desk up...if he managed to put it on top... Maybe the fragile construction would save their lives...

A voice within him was saying it was useless, impossible, but it was impossible to listen, impossible to think; he followed his most primal instinct, survival, and he had to keep fighting..._keep fighting..._

And then he saw him. Potter was flying, he had found a broomstick – typical. Whatever mess he was in, you could trust that boy to somehow get his hands on a broomstick and save his skin. Weasley was flying too, Granger clutching his back; they were trying to head out, but Potter wasn't... Potter was looking for something...

The diadem?

And then he understood. Potter was too stupid, or too clever, to try and find an object in this havoc of death. Potter was following his instincts too, the damned instinct to protect human life. His lifelong enemy was the last chance he had left.

His pathetic cry was hard to hear under the thunder of the feasting flames, but somehow Potter seemed to hear it. Their gazes locked, and he dived his way.

Terror was all that Draco could register as his hand, slick with sweat, slid out of Potter's; but Weasley and Granger were not leaving their friend behind; he felt hands grab Goyle, pull him out of his grasp, and he grabbed hold of Potter instead, hauling himself on the broom...

"IF WE DIE FOR THEM, I'LL KILL YOU, HARRY!" Weasley's voice yelled, and he screamed himself: "The door, get to the door, the door!" Terror was shrieking through their voices, terror was tearing through their chests, and they flew, as fast as they could...towards life...survival...

Potter abruptly dived, and for a second Draco's world seemed lost in red, hungry, roaring red that seemed to burn his eyes; he shut them tightly.

"What are you doing, what are you doing? The door's that way!" he screamed, but Potter didn't seem to be listening; they swerved again and again, and Draco could feel the flaming forms moving around them, trying to catch them on fire, he could feel the atrocious heat of the air, and the wind of their flight blowing against his face seemed to smell of human flesh, and crimson shapes were folding and unfolding under his eyelids, the hands of death were upon him, clawing at him... He couldn't hear his own screams, he couldn't feel anything that wasn't hell... And then, without the slightest warning, cold air whipped his face, and they collided violently with something that was hard and cool, something that belonged to the earth.


	30. Run from what you've once been

**Thanks to Sarah, Hanna and The Darkest Wizard for their reviews.**

**I'd like to dedicate this chapter to Hannah for being the wonder she is, but it isn't good enough in my book. Mmmmh... Let's say the whole fic, and my love. Cuz you've always been there, and I couldn't imagine it any other way...**

He felt his hands open, his body slide forward and he hit the cold stone floor. He didn't have it in him to roll over; he remained lying with his face pressed into the ground. He felt emptied of energy, of belief, of thought; death had come so close it still seemed to crawl against his skin, and he felt icy, clammy, weaker than the weakest of creatures. He had thought he knew terror and death so well – but no, no, no. He had known nothing, and still he knew nothing, he had no strength, no chance, life was too much for him.

He needed something to cling to, he realized. Soon he would be in the middle of a raging battle – he needed to get a grip.

He needed help.

He needed strength.

He needed something to do.

Someone to follow.

"C – Crabbe," he croaked softly.

There was no answer.

"C – Crabbe..."

"He's dead," he heard. Weasley's voice was harsher than he had ever heard it.

Something collapsed inside of him. It was like falling, quicker and quicker into an ever-deeper hole. Fear, realization and grief were tearing at his insides. He closed his eyes tight. He was trembling so much and he felt so cold, he didn't immediately register the tears running down his cheeks.

He heard words being spoken, that he didn't try to catch, then he heard bangs. His instinct kicked in and he raised his head weakly. Goyle was lying close by, unmoving, but Potter and his friends had gone, and he could see flashs of light in the distance.

Battle.

And he was wandless.

His legs felt as if they could fail him at any second, yet he managed to stand straight. He looked down at Goyle. He couldn't leave him there. So he grabbed him and painfully started to haul him towards a place of safety.

Please, let there be a place of safety somewhere.

He heard his friend groan, and hope burned savagely within him. He stopped, still supporting Goyle's weight and the boy's eyes opened slowly.

"What..." he croaked.

"Hush," Draco said in a hushed whisper, "we have to go, Goyle. We have to run."

Goyle didn't seem to register his words, yet it had no importance as soon unmistakable sounds of duelling could be heard in the distance – yet not quite far enough. The boy awkwardly felt around for his wand, and Draco, who was watching his face, saw a look of realization and terror dawn on his features.

"Please get up," he muttered, "we have to go."

He couldn't leave him behind. He wouldn't. He couldn't.

Goyle slowly hauled himself to his feet, still looking numb. Draco grabbed him by the arm and pushed him forward. They took off, running as far as they could...

The sound of the explosion seemed right behind them, and Draco couldn't hold back a scream. For one minute he knew that it was it, they were dead at last, but all he felt was a sharp pain in his cheeks where a shard of glass from a smashed window had torn his skin. So they were safe, the terrible disaster that had just occurred wasn't close enough to reach them... He whirled round, peering through the smoke that filled the corridor, but he couldn't see what had happened... He turned back.

"_GOYLE!_"

But his former friend didn't stop, he just ran straight forward, with a backward glance at him. Draco took off again, but whenever he went, he could still hear the battle raging ahead, not closer, not farther, behind him but surely before him too, everywhere. Everywhere war was wreaking havoc through the castle, and Draco ran and ran, terrified, he crossed corridors and tore through tapestries, but he couldn't outstrip death. There was no use even trying.

He tried though, he tried to hide, he pressed his frame against the walls and avoided the infuriated warriors as far as he could; he didn't care about the outcome of the battle, hardly recognized his friends from his foes, didn't even know which side he was in any more. All he cared about was saving his life.

He didn't know who he was any more. He was nothing but terrified. Nothing but alive and frantic to keep that treasure.

"You!" he heard behind him, and somehow he knew, before he could even turn around, what was going to happen –

"Hello, little traitor!" barked the masked Death Eater, launching himself at him.

"No!" Draco yelped, as a deadly flash of light nearly hit his head, causing him to leap aside in fear.

Green light.

He should have expected. it It was the drawback of having no more cause to fight for; he had no more allies, only foes.

"I'm Draco Malfoy!" he screamed, "I'm Draco! I'm on your side!"

But the Death Eater didn't care, he only laughed, raised his wand and...

...crashed down to the ground.

Unable to believe his luck, Draco looked around for his saviour, but all he received in return was a hard punch in the mouth, seemingly coming from nowhere. He fell on top of his failed killer, disbelieving.

"And that's the second time we've saved your life tonight, you two-faced bastard!" the all-too-familiar voice of Ronald Weasley roared in the distance.

Draco cowered on the floor.


	31. Witness of the unexpressible

**Thanks to Sarah, Hanna, Elo and The Darkest Wizard for their reviews.**

Draco Malfoy had never been this helpless, this terrified, in his whole life.

Oh, he had feared. He had known what it felt like to be frozen, watching fate zooming your way and just standing there. Letting it come. Hoping that the aim would miss.

You could get lucky for a while. But some aims never missed.

He saw her from afar, her wand flying and flashing through the air and she never missed her target. Her hair danced around her head, wild curses matching her dark aura, a black power duelling as if dancing. Lethal as she was, her mark was on him, in his nightmares and everytime he had gripped a wand trying to bring himself to harm without mercy. So why couldn't he stand straight and be a man at last?

Watching her, he forgot he could die.

Watching her, he wished for another life.

One so, so much easier.

He could have learned it, he knew. He had duelled her and moved quickly and lithely, he had been focused and daring and had brought a pleased, an _impressed_ gleam in her eyes.

He had stood at the point of no return and he couldn't delve any further into the dark. His soul had bathed in it, his body had fought for it, his mind had struggled and been broken, and still he had seen the light of day. Done the steps, crossed the lines, torn his innocence apart and it still wasn't enough. It could never be enough.

He wasn't born for it.

You had to be born for it.

He didn't have it in him. Unlike his aunt, beautiful wicked devil, unlike his master with his bloody eyes and inhuman voice, unlike his father who could grin while seeing a child writhe in pain. He didn't have it in him.

So he watched.

To him the battle didn't look won, by anyone. To him every body that crashed to the floor was just a sharp stab and a bitter reminder of what it was all about. To him there was no way out and no happy ending.

Maybe it was because of it that nobody cared to curse him. They were fighting for their lives or they were fighting for victory. Or maybe both. He was watching transfixed, not making a move.

He was no danger and he held no interest.

He was spared.

It seemed as if centuries were passing while he stayed there. Centuries run fast when you're living a miracle. He was living survival each passing minute.

No one even looked at him for more than one fraction of a second.

He watched and watched and then he heard the voice.

"You have fought," it said, cold and high and deadly, "valiantly."

He hadn't, and that voice made him flinch; his legs threatened to give way under him, but still he listened on, he listened as Lord Voldemort ordered his forces to retreat. And he watched them go.

He saw Bellatrix whirling down the stairs, he saw her twirl and send a last blinding light into the air, saw her eyes flash across the place, the glow of victory enlightening her face

She didn't see him.

There was a long, painfully, endlessly long silence while the survivors stared into each other's faces. Draco could only look down. Shock was filling him now. He saw bodies everywhere, they lay at his feet, they were dead and still he breathed. He hadn't fought. Their blood covered the stairs, their loved ones were standing at their side, silent and tearless with a grief one couldn't express. He hadn't fought.

Slowly, he found himself backing away, backing away from the dead, or maybe from the living, or maybe from bravery he couldn't imagine, from the heroes of a long lost war. He backed away and he didn't think.

_One hour. _

He turned brusquely around and started running.

Deeper into the castle.

Deeper and deeper and deeper.

He could have crept outside.

He could have joined the Death Eaters.

He could have hugged his parents.

Maybe one more time.

Either way, he was done for.

Either way, he was running into the beckoning arms of death.

He followed his instinct.


	32. Whirl of the world

**Thanks to Elo, Hanna, Sarah, The Darkest Wizard and EllenLaura for their reviews.**

**Wow – next chapter will be the final one. I can't believe it. Lol...**

The Room was ruined.

There was no other word.

Draco hadn't even been sure it would work again. Maybe it would have been better if it hadn't. Anything would have been better than this wreck, his former life burned to a cinder.

He could find no trace of Crabbe.

After a slow walk through the room, his numbness faded away, leaving realization to sink in. He always seemed to be realizing the drastic turn his destiny had took lately. Yet it had turned so long ago, hadn't it? He had been deemed and damned right away. As soon as he had taken the Mark.

All along, all along, he had had no choice and he had let this be.

Draco Abraxas Malfoy slowly sank to the floor.

Curled up among the ashes, icy and shaking, he cried like he had never cried before. To him, it felt this way. But oh, he had been crying for so long. Crying and wailing and struggling for a way out. Weakly. Feebly. Hopelessly.

His fate had unfolded and left him far behind. He had no more will. He had no more soul. He was a lost little boy in a whole universe of grief.

Draco Abraxas Malfoy didn't move for a whole eternity. Growing up had come too late.

And then he heard this voice again.

The voice that had started it all.

The voice that would end it all.

"Harry Potter is dead."

Slowly, slowly, Draco got up.

"He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him."

A step. Another step. And another. And another.

"We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone."

A flicker of light, against the hard stone wall.

So brief.

Nearly dead at once.

For him, the Room of Requirement opened a window into the darkness of the night.

He looked down at an army of Death Eaters.

"The battle is won."

And it was.

"You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle, now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live, and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together."

Draco listened, and hung to every world.

The Dark Lord was surely one for giving speeches. But he knew better. He knew the world that would come. He knew there was no hope for the Malfoy family.

He knew there was no way out.

So he remained there, unmoving, as the army walked to the castle.

Soon there was another stop, and the doors of Hogwarts opened. The defenders stepped out, and yells filled the air, screams of mourning and grief, for Potter was dead, never to stand again, for resistance was dead, lying at their feet...

_Had Potter fled?_

Draco couldn't believe it, he had seen the boy fighting to seize that diadem, he had seen him today, the flame in his eyes... Harry Potter had had a purpose, a mission, a fight of his own to achieve and he had not been cowardly. He hadn't.

What did it matter though, now... The hero was dead.

"SILENCE!" Voldemort screamed. "It is over!"

But for the fighters of the light, it didn't seem to be.

Numb and unthinking, Draco listened to the screams and jeers, listened and watched as the spirit of Potter and Dumbledore remained alive, even when their heirs were standing before death embodied. He watched as a little someone ran towards the Dark Lord...ran straight into the arms of Death.

He couldn't hear what was said anymore.

A flame burned clear into the night sky.

And hell broke loose.

Draco didn't understand at first, he didn't know what was going on. He saw the giants first, the most obvious reason for the Death Eaters' sudden fright. But then he saw silhouettes charging – arrows – and people arriving in the distance, screaming people that couldn't be on Voldemort's side – flying creatures – and it was chaos – it was havoc – it was battle all over again – and people were retreating, running to the castle...everyone, Death Eaters and defenders alike...Draco leaned outside... as far as he could... and then there was no one left...

Battle was back in the castle.

And he had no way to know what would be going on.

Who lived, who died, who won, who lost.

He ought to remain here, where he was safe. He ought to stay locked in that room. The Death Eaters would won, he thought. Even with this incredible turn of events, there was no way victory could whirl round so drastically.

So what would he do?

Be found here, hidden away like a coward, and slaughtered in cold blood like an animal?

Or get down, slide among the ranks in the cheers of victory, try and twist his fate, light and supple as a cunning viper, as a true Slytherin...and if death it was, face it with his chin high, his parents by his side?

Turning around, he walked out of the Requirement Room.

"Thank you," he whispered to no one, for no reason.

There was no answer.

None a human being could perceive.

But that room, the land of his deepest dilemmas, it belonged to him and no other.

His head was held high.


	33. Rise and fall

**And here is the final chapter...**

**Thanks to Elo, Hannah, Hanna, EllenLaura and the Darkest Wizard for their reviews. **

**10 pages for 139 reviews: I think now is the best moment to thank everyone! My forum girls' love and my new readers' interest have been a great support for that fic (which gave me hell at some moments ;P). **

**The sequel probably won't be up before... let's be frank... AGES. If some of you are interested and don't want to miss it, but can't be bothered to go for author alert, let me know in a review so that I can PM you once it is up. **

**Love, love, love, love, love. **

The corridors, deserted.

The castle, silent and deprived of any sign of life.

Outside the Great Hall, he couldn't hear a thing.

Courage wasn't a thing that came out of the blue, and Draco Malfoy hovered in the corridor, his heart beating hard.

Was the silence heaving on the dead?

Or was the castle holding its breath, waiting and waiting for a new life to come?

It wasn't _logical_, he thought. It didn't make sense. Death Eaters didn't take victory silently... but not battle either. So if the battle had stopped... if the crowd was silent... if the fighters were waiting... What for?

A step, then another. Then another. Then another.

The doors of the Great Hall were half-opened.

He slid in cautiously.

Inside, the crowd was holding its breath.

"You dare?" he heard the Dark Lord say.

"Yes, I dare," someone replied.

Draco's heart nearly stopped at the voice.

Potter.

Alive.

Shock hit him like a great wave, and for a minute he thought he would collapse.

Potter.

A miracle.

A miracle that held the crowd silent and enthralled.

A miracle that had turned the tide and tied Death's hands.

A miracle that left faith hanging in mid-air.

He was hardly listening to what was being said, he didn't care to listen – but a name caught his attention, stopped his mind dead on its tracks.

_Dumbledore._

"Severus Snape was never the true master of the Elder Wand. He never defeated Dumbledore."

"He killed – "

"Aren't you listening? _Snape never beat Dumbledore!_ Dumbledore's death was planned between them!"

Draco blinked.

Amazement slowly filling him.

"_I don't think you will kill me, Draco. Killing is not nearly as easy as the innocent believe..._"

He felt like laughing.

All along, all along, he had been the pawn.

And now, he felt like laughing, laughing, laughing.

Until he died.

He didn't understand why Potter and the Dark Lord stood there now discussing wands – he didn't care. He didn't know what was the Elder Wand and how many people actually Severus Snape had deceived, he didn't care. He didn't know why the crowd of fiery fighters was standing there unmoving. He didn't know where his parents were. He didn't know why he couldn't see his aunt staring eagerly at her Lord. He didn't know what his fate was, and the fate of the crowd, and the fate of their leaders and the fate of their world.

Never mind, never mind.

He felt beyond everything. He was nothing anymore.

Or maybe he was alive.

Or maybe he was free.

Free to be pushed around, and to laugh.

Free to be made what he didn't want to be. Just, just on the outside though.

"The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy."

He closed his eyes.

_"No difference – "_

_"You are now a Death Eater."_

_"I shall attend to Draco Malfoy."_

_"Well done, Draco, well done."_

_"Take care of yourself – please – "_

_"You two-faced bastard!"_

_"You have fought valiantly."_

_"I don't think you will kill me..."_

_"I haven't had a protégé for so long."_

_"Cowardly, stinking, scummy..."_

_"You made all the wrong choices."_

_"I am positive."_

_"I am in charge, no matter how young I am, no matter what you think of it."_

_"What has become of you, Draco?"_

_"We must save what's left of our family name..."_

_"You are not a killer."_

_"Fight!"_

_"What do you think, Draco? What do you think of her? What do you think of this?"_

_"Lucidity has its importance, don't get me wrong, yet it is not enough for me."_

_"You made all the wrong choices. ALL THE WRONG CHOICES."_

_"Expelliarmus!"_

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

Quick as the realization that all is an illusion, it all was over.

Everything was over, and the crowd exploded with cheers.

Draco Malfoy stood with his eyes closed.

Nothing left behind.

A higher shriek erupted – should have startled him – and he was suddenly wrapped in embraces.

_"How does it feel? To act like a man?"_

He didn't know.

Opening his eyes, he awkwardly put his arms around his parents.

**I had great fun with the quoting time. Some come from the books, some from the fic, and some didn't appear anywhere yet. I thought it would be fun if those interested tried to guess who said what. I'll reveal in review replies. And yes, it's a trick to coax a review out of the silent crowd, just for the final chapter ^^**


	34. NOT A CHAPTER Draco stuff UPDATED

**Hello guys :D**

**No, this isn't a sequel warning (sighs). I'm sorry. But I know that some people want that sequel, and I know that it won't be up soon, and I feel bad... So I thought I'd give you stuff to help you wait :D**

**I remembered today that I have a few Draco drabbles hanging around my profile, and I read some recently by my friends too, they're awesome – so if you want to see some Draco or Draco/Bella interaction... Up to you. **

**In case anyone is wondering, I'm not doing this to get reviews as well as I can. I just feel bad to let people down, and you don't even have to review my stuff if you don't want to, lol. (though for my friends it would be nice. Please. They're talented) Posting this makes me feel better :D **

**I can suggest you 100-word Draco drabbles made for xoxLewrahxox's forum: **

**_Rebirth_ could be an ITD missing scene: Draco witnesses Bella's and Voldemort's fall in the last battle.**

**.net/s/5809884/1/Rebirth**

**_Bitter remembrance_ could be an ITD missing scene too, lol: Draco's thoughts as he gets back to Hogwarts for his seven year. **

**.net/s/5913048/1/Bitter_remembrance**

**_Presence fast forgotten: _Pansy's thoughts about Draco. **

**.net/s/6252257/1/Presence_fast_forgotten**

**_Minds snap:_ a Legilimency lesson. (hehe. The Darkest Wizard, enjoy)**

**.net/s/6326145/1/Minds_snap**

**_My immortal:_ Draco visits Bella's grave. **

**.net/s/6430449/1/**

**_Castles of ice:_ Draco faces emptiness and fear. A bit of Bella at the end. **

**.net/s/6528065/1/**

**Now, on to my friends: **

**_Just Listen_ by Mesteria. A different view of Draco – far stronger – and an amazing story. I'm beta-reading it. **

**.net/s/6199899/1/Just_Listen**

**_The Darker side of dawn_ by The Silly Frog. Draco's and Bellatrix's view of their world and of each other. EPICNESS – I held my breath while reading it. **

**.net/s/6218827/1/The_Darker_Side_of_dawn**

**_Dark Heart Silhouette_ by Elle Blessingway. Draco's life, in a different world where the Dark Lord won the war. Very, very little Bellatrix – she hardly appears – but Draco/Astoria, Draco/Ginny (to non-shippers, I'm not into this ship either, but she does them really well) and a very deep, very powerful writing. I'm a fan. **

**.net/s/6159831/1/Dark_Heart_Silhouette**


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